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A Pact

By: Wondering_i



On edge. She hadn't been able to put her finger on it and it bugged her. The feeling, whatever it was, nagged at her, had grown stronger, really, as the week progressed. If it had not been there even before she left home, after a typically satisfying weekend with her husband, Maria would have chalked it up to being horny. But that conversation, that banter and teasing they often engaged in as part of their foreplay ritual, kept popping into her mind at odd times all week. 

Had they really made that agreement, a pact they had called it, or were they just being playful?

The conference ended yesterday and her coworkers had already returned home. Maria felt fortunate for the opportunity to stay, along with educators from all over North and South America, for the one-day, follow up workshop that had just ended. She was looking forward to flying home tomorrow, but was also eager to have one more evening in the city to unwind, on her own, without having to socialize with a bunch of familiar faces.

It was late sSpring, unusually balmy, and the evenings had been warm enough all week for sheher and her friends to venture out without the coats they had brought with them. Maria took her time getting ready to go out, relaxing in the Jacuzzi tub that came, unexpectedly, with the room. It felt luxurious to only have to worry about where she was going to go and what she was going to wear.

She picked out a long sleeve, scoop neck, close-fitting blouse to wear over a soft camisole that felt sensuous against her skin, and which did away with the need for the additional support of a bra. A black skirt and black tights with a closed fishnet pattern was all she needed to complete the outfit – along with the black boots she and Aden had picked out the weekend before. It was the boots that had sparked the conversation that led to the pact, and she was fully aware of how sexy he thought they were on her.

The restaurant she settled on was one that she and her coworkers had been to a couple nights before. It was known for its great seafood, and the bar was one of those upscale, quiet, and very comfortable places that attracted a clientele that spanned a wide range of ages. The cocktail menu had intrigued her, describing drinks that had combinations of spirits, liqueurs, juices and spices that she had never seen before. She figured that she would start in the bar, then either take a table in the restaurant or stay there for something light.

Maria checked herself in the full length mirror, admitting Aden was right about how good the combination looked on her. She felt great as she walked through the hotel lobby and out into the warm evening for the short walk to the restaurant.

+++++++

Aden had spent the days since Maria left finishing up a graphics project that had been dragging on for weeks. He loved his work, but this one had tested his patience and he was glad to be done with it. Immediately after hitting the button that sent the final image to his client, he loaded the camping gear he had carefully assembled into his car, left his watch and cell phone on the kitchen counter, and started driving. 

The campground he headed for was a couple hours north and west, in the foothills of the Cascades, on the Little North Santiam River. He had been there once, years ago before he started fly-fishing, and had been eager to see if the small, glacier fed river really was as beautiful as he remembered. He arrived around dusk, road weary but happily looking forward to two nights and a full day of fishing, by himself, before having to return home.

He wasn't surprised to find the remote campground sparsely occupied. With only a couple other tent campers, a small RV, and the camp host spread out through the 14-site, barely developed Forest Service campground, Aden easily found a space to his liking. Working quickly to take advantage of the remaining daylight, he pitched his tent, organized his bedding, and ate the reheated leftovers he had brought from home. 

In the morning he left from his campsite on foot, following the river trail along what he reckoned must be one of the prettiest rivers in the State. After making his way down to a gravel bar and the first pool that looked promising, he slowly worked his way upriver, casting a dry fly into every pool and riffle. 

When the river bank was impossible to navigate, or the approach to the next fishing hole looked more accessible from the other side, Aden forded the river to get to the opposite bank. The sun was out, quickly drying his clothes and warming his legs after wading through the at times waist deep cold stream. 

Fishing, he thought, was almost a meditative process, where thoughts of work, things to get done, relationships, everything but the way the stream moved, the cast, and the fly at the end of the line fading into the background. It had little to do with catching fish, and a lot to do with being outside and in the moment. And fishing, he had to admit, didn't get any better than this.

+++++++++++

Maria entered the restaurant and made her way to the pub. There was a small crowd present, enough to lend a welcome sense of anonymity, and she found a stool at the quieter end of the bar. 

She was a little nervous about going out alone, but relaxed in the familiarity of the setting. The bartender– young, friendly, unhurried, and talkative – remembered her from the prior evening and put her at ease with a little professional conversation as he went about his job. Maria ordered the ginger infused Cosmopolitan that she had previously seen on the drinks menu, but hadn't ordered. She immediately liked it, but deliberately paced herself so the effects of the alcohol wouldn't overtake her. 

A few minutes after she had settled in, a man walked into the bar, someone she recognized as one of the workshop attendees. He had been one in a small group she was a part of that had spent about an hour together working on a task, and her impression of him was that he was self-confident but a little shy. She remembered that he was from Argentina, and though it was hard to tell, figured he was probably a couple years older. He wasn't classically handsome, but was attractive because of the way he carried himself – and not a little bit because he was dark and Latin. 

He was headed for the bar, and when he saw her she acknowledged him with a smile and nod, noticing that he hesitated just a second before moving in her direction. He offered his hand, said his name (Jorge), and she quickly assured him that she recognized him from earlier in the day. Maria invited him to sit at the bar with her, suggested the ginger drink to him, and ordered an appetizer for herself. 

They slipped effortlessly into a conversation about the workshop, which segued naturally into questions about his life in Argentina. When they moved on to politics and culture his sense of humor was apparent, and Maria found their shared interests in education and common outlook on life made him seem more of an old friend than recent acquaintance. 

As they talked there were moments when one of them naturally reached out and touched the other while making an observation or emphasizing a point. Maria was aware that, more than once, when he touched her thigh his hand lingered just long enough to suggest that the contact was more than casual. 

They talked about his impressions of the city, about how they both loved the sidewalk art scattered throughout downtown. When their drinks and appetizer were finished Jorge suggested they go look at one sculpture in particular that he liked and that she was unfamiliar with.

+++++++++++

Aden had been out on the river for several hours, eaten lunch, and not caught anything. He decided to venture around the proverbial one more bend in the river before turning around and making his way back downstream. When he rounded the bend he noticed two women on the opposite bank who were reclining in camp chairs, both engrossed in books.

They didn't notice him until he was almost directly across from them and was scrambling over boulders to reach a long, shallow pool just beyond. Not wanting to impose himself into their space, he gave them a small wave, which was returned by both, along with friendly smiles, and moved on. 

As he made his casts into the river he could look back at the women, observing them without being obvious. Both were dressed in shorts, t-shirts, and hiking sandals. One was sitting in the sun and wearing a wide brimmed straw hat, the other was in the shade, had a towel draped over her legs and boasted a head of beautiful, long red hair. Aden enjoyed the picture these two athletic-looking women presented – accentuated by their apparent air of feeling completely at home in a wilderness environment – in such an idyllic setting. 

He caught one of them looking his way at one point, but thought nothing of it and focused on his fishing. After a short time he noticed that the redhead had walked upriver and was watching him fish. He was self conscious about being a novice, and was relieved when he could put his rod down and answer some questions she posed about hiking in the area. He learned that she and her friend were travelling through on a long road trip, starting in the southwest and making their way up to Canada. They chatted briefly across the narrow stream before she thanked him for the information and rejoined her friend.

After a few more casts Aden started back downstream, pausing to tell the two women about another hike he knew of that was further upstream in the Opal Creek Wilderness. His directions to the trailhead, though, were a little vague because it had been some time since he had been there.

He spent the next couple hours fishing his way downstream, still without luck but savoring every minute of his time alone on the river. The image of the two women flashed into his mind occasionally and he took delight in the mental picture of them sitting in their chairs looking both beautiful and tranquil. It was close to 6 when he made it back to the campground – still light, but the sun quite low behind the trees.

He got out his food and cooking gear, prepared a simple dinner, and relished a glass of deep red wine. After cleaning up he walked to the restrooms, passing one of the tents and the RV, where the two women he had seen on the river bank were sitting in their chairs, chatting beside a small campfire. They waved to him and he continued on to the bathrooms.

On his way back he stopped at their site and offered to bring over a map of the area that showed the trailhead he told them about. They were enthusiastic and suggested that he bring a chair too so he could accompany them at their fire. Aden gathered the map, his chair, and the bottle of wine and returned to the women's campsite. After exchanging names (Catherine, the redhead, and Sonya), and before looking at the map, they poured glasses of wine and quickly started talking about where they had been and the experiences they had already had on their trip. 

They were longtime, good friends and had a playful, caring friendship. When the conversation turned to the next day's plans they remembered the map, spread it out on the picnic table under the light of their propane lantern, with Aden lodged cozily snuggly between them on the bench seat. Leaning in close to see the details on the map, Aden was conscious of the physical contact he was making with Catherine, and deliberately left their legs touching as they leaned back from the map to continue the conversation. 

She didn't pull away and Aden noticed that the two women shared a quick glance and the hint of a smile. The conversation continued over another glass of wine, and the casual contact between Aden and Catherine was joined by some less subtle, even suggestive touching under the table with Sonya. When the trail discussion ended, Sonya suggested they return to the fire and share some of the southwest grown pot they brought with them that they needed to finish before crossing into Canada.

+++++++++++

Maria and Jorge walked unhurriedly through downtown, the Cosmopolitan making her just a little light headed and more than a little uninhibited. They talked earnestly and several times Maria briefly slipped her hand between his arm and body, resting it on his forearm. 

She felt sexy in her boots, and had been aware of how Jorge had been appraising her in what she decided was the somewhat chauvinistic, but not unpleasant, way she experienced with men as a younger woman travelling alone in Spain. Neither of them talked about their relationship status, and while Maria was enjoying the attention, and returning the flirtation, she felt no pressure from Jorge that she was committing to anything else. 

When they reached the sculpture that Jorge wanted to show her, she was struck by its free flowing, almost sensuous, lines. As they paused, standing close, to admire it, Maria was aware that her breast was pressed against his arm, and further that Jorge was shifting his weight so that his arm was brushing across it, making her nipple harden in response. She thought that he must, wearing just a shirt, feel it, too.

Maria took Jorge to a bar that she and Aden discovered several years ago when they came to the city together, one well known for its Spanish coffees. They ate a little more, sitting side by side at a small bar table, and savored both their drinks and their conversation. 

Getting up to leave, Maria felt the pleasant rush of both liquor and coffee, and now as they walked she kept a firm grip on his arm. They were heading back to their starting point and Jorge pointed out a small building a block away that was his hotel – one of those casually elegant boutique hotels favored by European visitors to the city. When Maria expressed her appreciation of the building and her love of just such hotels, he invited her to come inside to examine it more closely. Maria eagerly accepted and they entered the hotel, walked slowly around the lobby, and over to the elevator.

He hadn't said anything about showing her his room, but she was curious and Jorge was taking the lead at this point. The room was exquisite – warm and cozy, not overstuffed and not austere– with a small balcony that overlooked the river. While Jorge busied himself opening a bottle of wine he had brought from Argentina, Maria let herself out onto the balcony and stood, leaning on the railing, admiring a view that was amazing for its sense of privacy in such an urban setting. The closest signs of the city came from across the wide river that bisected it. The only other people visible were those strolling under the street lamps that illuminated a wide promenade on the riverbank half a block away. 

Maria didn't turn when the room light went out behind her. A surge of anticipation ran through her, accompanied by a quickening of pulse and intake of breath. She felt Jorge's presence behind her, then his hands on her waist, and finally his body pressed into hers. At first she froze, then softened, then became aware of what could only be an erection pressing up against her. They were quickly moving out of the flirting zone, and when Maria turned to face Jorge, there was an unmistakable, unambiguous question in his eyes.

+++++++++++

The pot was good and it was starting to have a familiar effect on Aden. He was slowing down, loosening up, and losing a self-consciousness he had always felt around unfamiliar and attractive women. Catherine and Sonya, too, were obviously feeling contented and the dialogue flowed freely. 

The women were teasing each other, drawing Aden into an increasingly intimate discussion about men, relationships, and experiences. Even when they revealed some pretty audacious things about themselves and each other, and seemed to be deliberately challenging him to do the same, Aden remained composed and even found himself enjoying the candid banter. 

In a truth or dare kind of moment, aided by the inhibition lowering effects of the wine and pot, he told Sonya and Catherine about his and Maria's pact made the previous weekend. They had been married for a while, happily and without straying, and were talking about ways to spice up in their sex life. They had given each other a 'once in a lifetime' pass to have a romantic or sexual experience – an experience that promised to be just too good to pass up. It was agreed to, but he wasn't really sure if they were serious or just playing.

As he became more caught up in the increasingly 'boundaries-free' conversation, Aden at first found himself thinking about each of the women's physical presence, and then actively imagining them in the sexual situations they were alluding to. He was aroused by both their unabashed interest in talking about sex and by their unsuppressed sexuality.

Aden got up and replenished their wine glasses and on his way back to the campfire paused behind Catherine and put his hands lightly on her shoulders, then moved them to her neck as he told them just how brazen and refreshing he found them to be. The gesture was casual but also suggestive, and seemed to be quickly picked up on by Catherine. She reached up and caught his hand just as he was pulling away, encouraging him to linger with his other hand gently entwined in her hair. 

Sonya, who had been the bolder of the two in conversation, drew in a quick breath, flushed slightly, and asked if Aden would be interested in playing a part in a fantasy that the two of them had cooked up while on the road. Aden was familiar with fantasies, having thoroughly enjoyed conjuring up many of his own over the years, but being asked to actually participate in someone else's was truly new ground. He appeared to be thinking about it, but was actually tongue-tied and could hardly muster a weak 'sure.' 

+++++++++++

Maria, too, thought about the 'Once in a Lifetime' pass, but she had taken it to heart and it was probably already playing a role in how her evening had developed. She answered Jorge's question by kissing him eagerly and with an excitement that startled her. Jorge's reaction was swift and passionate. 

He enveloped her with a strength that surprised her, pulling her to him with one hand while the other explored the curves and shape of her back and ass. She had taken her boots off when she entered the hotel room, and now, as he lifted her and pressed her up against the balcony's wall, it was easy to wrap her legs around his waist. 

There was a hunger about him that had a reciprocal effect on Maria – as Jorge moved his hand under her shirt and grasped first one breast then the other she almost desperately encouraged him to explore them. When he pulled her shirt up to reveal both breasts she wanted more and pulled her shirt up and over head. When he lowered her to the floor and put both hands under her skirt and into the waistband of her tights, she moved quickly to help remove them. 

As he paused to admire her, Maria took the initiative and unbuckled his belt, undid the buttons of his pants, and immediately felt his erection. He again lifted her up against the wall, but this time when her skirt rode up and she encircled his waist with her legs, there was nothing separating them. She was ready, more than ready, for him to penetrate her, to thrust into her with a desire and abandon that matched hers – her juices were flowing and her appetite huge. 

Jorge moved in and out with a force and a rhythm that carried Maria along, building in intensity and lust. An evening of flirtation and suggestion, the excitement of being with someone new, the thrill of abandoning caution, all combined to overwhelm her with a powerful lust she was unaccustomed to and she climaxed with a series of shudders and moans that were followed almost immediately by the unmistakable signs of Jorge also reaching an orgasm. He lowered her slowly until she was standing again on the floor, continuing to move slowly and with obvious pleasure inside of her. They were both panting, then laughing, then disengaging and moving back into the room to lie on the bed. 


A Pact For Life



I was having a hard time. My final examinations were approaching, but I just could not get down to studying. At 18, I had always been a pretty good student. However, my performances were beginning to slip. Everyone was worried. My teachers were unable to make out why I was suddenly neglecting my studies at such a vital time. My mother was at the end of her wits. She had single handedly put me through school after my father had ditched us and left with a girl half his age when I was ten.

The problem, as one may guess, was girls. I just could not stop thinking about them. I was still a virgin. I had never seen a girl naked in the flesh leave alone fuck one, and I was dying to get a chance. The best I could get were some nude pictures over which I would masturbate.

One morning I was sitting at my study desk pretending to study. I was actually busy ogling at the pictures of a nude woman with great tits that a friend had supplied me with. I was jacking away feverishly trying to release my sexual tension. I did not know that I had forgotten to shut the door of my room. I never knew when my mother entered the room, but she caught me red handed at what I was doing.

As one may well imagine, she simply chewed me out. The entire moral science book was thrown at me. Nothing better could be expected, she said, from the son of a father as was mine. I was a pervert and a maniac, she said. I could not say anything. I somehow managed to stuff my cock into my pants and hung my head in shame and listened as Mother continued to rave at me.

We did not exchange a look or word that entire day. We ate our meals in silence and I tried to keep in my room as far as possible and avoid meeting with Mother as far as possible. I was the most thankful guy in the world when we finally finished our dinner that night and it was time for both of us to turn in.

I was about to get into bed when I heard my mother calling me from her room. I went there with my heart sinking. I was sure she was going to give me another lecture about what had happened earlier that day. When I got to her room I found it was dark. I stood at the doorway unsure about what I should do.

"Come inside." Said Mother. "Keep the lights off."

I did as she said. Maybe she had a headache, I thought. I approached her bed. Some residual light from outside was all that came into the room. I came and stood beside her bed. I saw that she was lying on her bed and then with a shock I realised that she was lying stark naked.

I stood there totally stunned. Mother was no a beauty queen but she was always quite an eyeful to look at, standing 5'5" tall, and weighing about 65 kgs. She has a magnificent pair of boobs measuring 40D. We stared at each other for a while and then I panicked and was about to run, when Mother caught my hand and pulled me to her. She pulled my head to her tits. 

"Do you like them?" She asked softly. "Are they as good as the one you were seeing in those pictures?"

I was dumbstruck. I did not know what to say.

"You can enjoy my breasts if you want." Said Mother. "Come feel them and kiss them. I think you will enjoy them."

I felt as though I was living in some dream. I started slowly by kissing and sucking at her nipples. Soon I got into the mood. I sucked and kissed and squeezed her tits to my heart's content. At times, Mother would cry out in pain as I became more and more wild with desire. In fact her breasts were covered with bruises the next morning, but she never tried to stop me.

"Would you like to fuck your Ma?" She asked after a while as I began to ease up a little.

"Yes, Ma, I would." I said, still quite unable to believe my ears and my luck. "Oh, I would love to fuck you."

"Fine, you can." She said. "However, I have some conditions."

"Oh, I will do whatever you say." I told her. "Just let me fuck you once. Please, Ma, please."

"I realise that the reason for your poor performance at studies is your preoccupation with women and sex." She said. "That is quite natural at your age, but in our society it will be difficult for you to get satisfaction anywhere. However, we cannot let it ruin your career and life, can we? I will let you have all the sex you wish with me on condition that you start concentrating on your studies once more. Do you agree to that? Will you make me proud of you once more?"

"I do, Ma." I promised her fervently. "I promise you I will never let you down again."

"What are you waiting for in that case?" She asked laughing. "Come and fuck me good and hard, my son. I am dying for some sex as well. I haven't had any ever since your father left us and went away."

I did not any further invitations. I climbed on top of her. I was so nervous and eager to start that I could not put my cock into her love hole properly. She laughed and helped me guide my cock into her hole. It was like entering heaven. I had never felt such ecstasy in my life. It was so soft and snug and warm inside her. Her pussy was a bit tight on account of all the years without use, but slowly my cock sunk its whole length into her.

"Oh you are so BIG!" Mother exclaimed. "Oh I'm going to love this!"

I began to move on top of her. We quickly settled into a rhythm. I drove my body deeper and deeper into her. She sucked me deeper and deeper into her. Waves of ectasy swept over both of us. Soon we were both moaning in sheer rapture. We covered each other's body with kisses and bites as we moved to still higher and higher levels of pleasure. I could feel my cock begin to swell inside Mother's belly. She felt it too as she began to scream with pleasure as the friction inside her pussy got more and more unbearable.

Finally I could not hold back the fire raging in my balls any longer. My cock exploded inside Mother sending streams of my sperm spurting to every nook and corner of her belly. We continued thrusting against each other till at last all the sperm in my balls had been squeezed out of me and had fallen inside her.

We tenderly kissed each other on each other's face and neck still unable this wonderful new facet to our relationship. Finally I fell asleep with my heads cradled by Mother against her tits while she caressed my head and back lovingly and tenderly, kissing the top of my head every now and then.

I woke up a few hours later to a wonderful sensation. At first I could not make out what it was. Gradually I realised it was being caused by Mother riding me. She had woken up ahead of me. She had begun playing with my cock while I slept. My cock had soon become erect all over again on its own while I was slept. Mother had rolled me over on to my back and had climbed on top of me. She had inserted my cock inside her pussy and had taken it fully inside her pussy. When I had finally come out my sleep she was already riding away hard on top of me, with her tits juggling in gay abandon in front of my face.

I caught hold of her tits and began to squeeze them while joining into her rhythm. She moaned unable to bear the wonderful sensations of pleasure and pain together. I pulled her tits to my mouth and began to suck them. Mother began to ride me harder and harder. She was groaning with ecstacy and she moved up and down in a frenzy on my impaled cock. Since I had emptied my balls only a little while back I was taking some time to come again. I could feel Mother begin to get exhausted, so I turned our positions around with my cock still inside her and began to fuck her juicy body now under me harder and harder. Mother was screaming and sobbing with pleasure as my cock threatened to tear her apart. I drove my cock into her mercilessly again and again and again.

I could feel the floodgates in my testicles finally burst and my sperms begin to flood into my cock. I tried to hold them back for as long as I could, but finally the sensations in my cock were too much for me to bear and I let go. Once more a fair amount of my cum splashed into Mother's womb. I continued to drive myself into her until I was totally drained.

We lay in each other's arms silently gazing at each other for a long time.

"I will make you very proud of me, Ma." I promised her. "I will give you that you want from me -- as a son or in any other manner you want. I will make you as happy as I can. I give you my solemn promise on that."

"That is all I can wish for." Mother replied smiling. "From now on you are not only my son, but also much more. Somehow, I feel certain that you will make me proud and happy in every way."

So saying, we fell asleep, a deep and contented sleep, in each other's arms. Mother arranged a vacation for a week at a lonely hill station where we put up at a comfortable but discreet hotel. We did nothing for the entire week but fuck each other crazy. We were two totally sex hungry animals suddenly given this wonderful opportunity to satiate our needs. At the end of the week we were barely able to stand on our feet, but we were happy beyond belief. 

Needless to say I have been able to keep my part of the bargain. Once we got back from the vacations I dug my teeth into my studies. Mother gave me all the sex I needed. I passed my examinations with flying colours, doing even better that what I had been expected of me. I am now studying at one of the top engineering institutes in the country. I have to stay at a hostel. Mother and I miss other terribly when I am away. However, I try to get home every now and then whenever I manage get a few day's holidays together. Then Mother and I spend the time we have together fucking each other's brains out.



A Pact With Dawn



I was stirred awake by a stroke of bright light across my face. Two blades from my blinds were lifted, sending two searing lines of sunlight through the room and upon my closed eyes. My hands pawed at the sudden brightness, but the radiant relent drew me from any hopes of returning to dreamland. 

My first eyeball blinked open. Through an unclear haze of a slight hangover I saw the sexy contours of a shapely naked woman near my window! This demanded the attention of my other eye, and my aching mind, which raced to retrace the events of last night. I recalled Papa Joe's pizza, a few guys over, my birthday cake, a game on the flat screen, a case, and no women. Definitely no naked women that wanted to go to bed with me. Who wanted an almost thirty, just unemployed guy? A few women on the internet, but none last night. At least that I could remember.

I sat up. Well, nearly sat up. I hadn't completed a real true sit-up since college. I now weighed two-hundred and fifty pounds at 5'10". I'm a bit hairy too. It's the Italian part of me which didn't help. My friends had reserved the nickname of Bear since about ninth grade, given to me by a spin-the-bottle closet winner. It stuck, in fact, I was almost getting used to it.

"That's why I'm here," she said in a smokey voice with a slight southern accent. She took a quick seat on the bed next to me, and then laid down facing me with her elbow propping her head up. She stole the covers and pulled them over what I eyed were a pair of muscular, lean legs. 

I rubbed my eyes as they adjusted to the light and focused on my lovely room raider. The unsettling hottish breed of the female persuasion, and in incredible shape. I realized now she wasn't naked, but wearing a spandex sort of cat-suit that left little to the imagination. She was mid-twenties, bronze-hued blonde with long straight hair that fell about her shapely shoulders and bust. Her blue eyes peered up at me, and an self-assured smirk crossed her full lips. There was a familiarity about her angular looks. Like when you see a friend of a friend from way back in high school, but you can't remember her name or exactly which party. "Now that you've had a look at me, let's talk," she said and placed her hand on my shoulder, urging me to lay down again. I resisted, peering over at the sexy anomaly.

I did ask what I always as of strange women that wake me in my bedroom, "Forgive me if this offends you but, did we- you know; I'm not sure I-"

"Not yet Bear," she said matter-of-factly.

"Oh good. I guess. I think," I fumbled, running my hand behind my neck nervously. "Who are you?"

"I'm your escort," she said again, in a very charming but businesslike manner. She placed one of her legs over mine, I was sporting a log-cabin sized morning woody, that her thigh rubbed up against and caused me to jump. 

"Oh!" I laughed. "This isn't something, I mean. This isn't something one of my friends did. You know, paid you to wake me up, do your thing. You know, because-" I began to wiggle away from her pursuing knee.

She lifted a hand to stop my presumption. "No. I'm not that kind of escort. My name is Dawn. I am your spirit escort. I'm here to give your body a push in the right direction, by your soul's request of course."

A weird silence stood between us for a long moment and we tried to read each other.

"I'm sorry Dawn, last night wasn't too clear for me obviously. Where did I meet you?"

She rocked herself over me. Dawn's strong legs pinned my hips to the mattress. She put her arms on my shoulders and looked me straight in the eye. This amazing fitness trainer-type woman was pressed against my morning hard-on, the slick spandex and my silk boxers were the only barrier between my sex and hers. She pushed me back into my pillow, her spectacular boobs jiggled above my chest. I was incredibly aroused and frightened at the same time. This is how bunnies must feel before being consumed by an absolutely sexy fox.

"Okay look, this is going to be very hard for you to understand, so I need your attention. Which mmmm I think I have." Dawn said while settling on my hips with a gently rocking motion. "This is the first time we've met, physically that is. I've been with you for a while though. We have a lot of work to do. I thought this morning would be a good start. Are you hungry?"

I was. I was hungry and intrigued by this sexy but crazy woman in my bedroom. "A good start for what?"

Dawn What'shername rose off my shoulders and sat up. Her shapely rump pressing into my thighs. She then folded her hands together. She bowed her head and prayed out loud. "Dear God, please give me the power to wake up tomorrow and stay on my diet. I really need to drop a few pounds before summer this year. I know I can do it. It's just really been hard since I lost my father. Amen." Dawn lifted her head and grinned at me coyly. "Sound familiar?"

I looked at hear in disbelief. It was the prayer, in exact words, that I had prayed the past few months. "Who are you?" 

"I'm the power that's going to make you stay on your diet, among other things." Dawn said while leaning forward and over me again. Again she positioned her hips over mine and began gyrating against my swollen organ, and I was almost sure I was going to explode from the motion of her on top of me. Her hair dangled down into my face and smelled like lilies. She smiled inches away from my face when she whispered, "You just need the right motivation, don't you?" 

I swear if my cock were super-empowered would have poked through my boxers, pierced the spandex between us and stuff itself into the promised warm juiciness of her body. My hands so badly wanting to grip her ass, to-

"Go ahead. Grab my ass. I really don't bite," she said.

"You can read my thoughts?"

"Even the dirty ones," she purred as my curious hands went around her hips and cupped her taught rump. "That feels good. Don't it?" she asked with southern appeal. 

"So you're like my guardian angel?" I asked.

"Kinda Bear," she said using my nickname. She leaned over and grabbed my gut with both hands, shaking it like a bowl full of jelly. Then she leaned over to my ear and whispered, "I'm more like the answer to your prayers. I'm an escort. I'm going to recharge your will power a bit, and then point you in the right direction. That is, if you agree to the terms."

"Terms?"

Her hips stopped rocking. "Well escorts aren't free Bear." Dawn said with a little grin that obviously meant a whole lot more. She laid her hand over my heart. I gasped as it felt like she reached into my chest and squeezed it. She then withdrew her hand quickly. "Good. I'm not too late."

"I can't imagine why God would send you now!" I blurted, letting go of her ass and rubbing my tingling chest. "What was that?"

"Who said I worked for God?" Dawn replied, ignoring my second question. "I'm here to fix your soul Bear. I'm here for you. But let us not discuss these things on an empty stomach." 

"Huh?"

She snapped her fingers. Everything went black.

***

She snapped her fingers again, and the world came back in a flash.

It appeared I was at the zoo? How did that happen?

"Wrong, this ain't the zoo. This is the jungle. Nepal, actually," Dawn clarified. She was sitting next to me, cross legged in a flimsy V-necked dress, black in color with blacker animal print striping.

I got my bearings and checked my surroundings around us. We were sitting on a crude stone bench, aside a churning rocky path that led upwards on a mountainside. A chorus of wildlife echoed from the lush jungle greenery that surrounded the path. I could see behind us the earth sloped downwards, and the cascading sound of rushing water whispered it's audible presence. It did look like Nepal, I suppose.

The air was sweet, humid and temperate. I was only dressed with a white robe I didn't own. It was silky and light, and tied at the waist with a black belt of the same material. My eyes then settled back Dawn, and I noticed she wasn't wearing shoes. Her feet were pretty, her toes manicured and painted red. I learned quickly that everything about Dawn's seemed damn smoking hot. Her dancing blue eyes redirected my attention. "Do you feel comfortable?"

"I guess," I answered truthfully. "This is a bit strange though."

"I can imagine," Dawn said with a smirk as she rose from her seat and faced me. "I'm here to make this as comfortable of a process as possible. But you'll soon see it's going to get a bit more strange."

"I can't imagine how."

"I know." She replied with a girlish giggle. "Let me begin by sucking your dick."

"What!" I must have been dreaming. I knew I was dreaming now. Cummon, Nepal? Yeah right. 

"Your not dreaming." Dawn growled as she kneeled before me and started untying my robe. In a moment she peeled the garment open and looked upon my flaccid member hanging under my belly hungrily. "I told you we needed breakfast. You have some fruit beside you. It's healthier than the MacGreasies with syrup you've been eating every morning." 

I began to say something in response when she buried her head between my legs and sucked my formless sex into the wet warm confines of her mouth. I was left open mouthed and speechless as I felt her fingers cradle around my balls. Instantly the blood rush from every extremity to my loins, leaving me dizzy. My hands went to her soft hair, which I petted, then pulled back from her face as her suckling became more intense with the swelling of my member in her mouth. 

Oddly I then noticed a fruit basket sitting beside me. I couldn't remember if it was there before. The basket was wicker, and the fruit inside was roundish with a brown rind. My appetite was curtailed by the massage Dawn's tongue was performing on my cock, and my attention instantly returned back to her. She was servicing me like a king.

"I'm going to feed you breakfast if you keep this up." I let her know. She awarded me by slowly releasing my steely sex from her lips, one inch at a time, before engulfing the length again into the velvety confines of her mouth. Dawn also gave me ample view of my member being consumed between her lips. She repeated this erotic process again and again. Each time with one hungry blue eye peering up through the curtain of her bronze wavy hair. Her efforts were stirring cum into the base of my member. "I'm getting close."

I noticed that Dawns other hand was at work under the slack hemline of her dress- between her thighs. ‘MMmmmm. . .' I felt her voice hum onto my head. She released me to say ‘Don't hold back on the honey! I'm starvin' Bear!'

With that I felt her slender hands release my balls and wrap around the base of my cock to start pumping. Her thick lips wrapped around my cock just under my head and milked me with gently squeezes. In rhythm with her repetitions, Dawn's soft flat tongue coaxed the underside of my member for cum to rush forward with audible slurps. There was no holding back. The intensity of her oral overture grew with hungry anticipation. 

Suddenly her blue eyes grew wide as my organ shot a thick load of salty breakfast into her mouth. She moaned and gulped the initial spurt down, but my pulsing member spewed several more streams of appreciation beyond her lips. She remained locked onto my head until the final surges and my groans of appreciation subsided. 

Suddenly Dawn rose up to face me. She released my cock with an oozing string of cum swamped saliva to her lips, despite her care not to lose a bit of the gooey prize of her efforts. In a fluid motion she wordlessly crawled atop of me. One hand reached down for a piece of fruit in the basket. The other went to my chest. I felt pricks of pain. I glanced down and saw that her hand- was clawed! The red painted talons stuck painfully into my hairy chest! Also amazingly the sleeve of her dress seemed to melt to her skin like paint, giving her body a pantherine look.

Dawn lifted the fruit to my lips with her other hand. ‘Bite.' She commanded to my thoughts. I did, while leaning back from the pressure she put on my chest. The rind was rough but giving. The peach-like fruit inside was incredibly sweet and soft. Juice from the bite ran down my cheeks as I laid back. She then quickly tore the fruit away from my lips, leaving all but a little sweet meat of the fruit on my tongue as I laid completely flat on the bench, with her crouched on top of my bulk. Dawn's blue eyes commanded my attention, but they were no longer human. The pupils dilated tightly in a vertical feline manner. ‘Kiss me!' She commanded through my thoughts. 

I pressed my lips to hers. Our lips parted and instead of her expected tongue she released a large warm load of salty ooze into my fruit sweetened mouth. 

I instantly knew she carried the mouthful of cum my member had dumped, and spat it into mine. I was shocked more than anything.

"Swallowing the fruit of my labor is the first term of our pact." She purred outwardly before kissing me again.

Her tongue danced on mine for a moment, and slithered back into her own mouth, leaving mine full with the swampy-sweet treat. Her catlike eyes danced with mine. I felt her large leathery palm press into my chest and her claws retract. "Swallow it," her voice urged.

I swallowed the load down my throat. It slid evenly like an oyster. My stomach clenched with the thought of my own cum returning to me for a meal. I felt very full and warm.

Dawn's body settled against mine above me, her lips meeting mine again and kissing me hungrily, our tongues wrestled friskily. The weight of Dawn's tits pressed against my chest. Her tight stomach writhing against my soft bulk, as her hips again set themselves upon my still swollen sex. I prodded her eagerly for sex but was disappointingly rejected with a soaked silky barrier of her panties. My hands went around to the small of her back, down to her ass where I cupped the rounded weight of them. Her eyes blinked two times, and I noticed her pupils returned back to their familiar human roundness. Her hand's slender fingers ran through my hair and I felt her rounded manicured nails on my scalp. We laid together on the rock for some time. Kissing and touching each other playfully. My thumbs hooking the elastic of her panties, and pressed them downwards. 

Dawn shook her head. "Not yet Bear. You did really good though," she whispered. "You have one more term to meet before we consummate our deal," she said. "I bet you have more questions."

I did. I began to voice them when Dawn snapped her fingers.

***

My favorite coffee house. We had a window seat at a small round chess table that had no pieces. Two steaming tall coffees sat on the table between us.

"I thought this was proper way to follow yummy breakfast you provided," Dawn said while taking a sip of her coffee. She was still dressed in her kittenish black dress. I saw now I was wearing casual khaki shorts and a white polo shirt. I felt refreshed, like I had just taken a shower. I smiled and drank a sip of what tasted like a mocha latte. I had questions.

"Can other people see you?" I asked.

"Yes, I'm not a ghost."

"Good cause I didn't want the people here to think I was talking to myself. Where did you come from? Why do you look so familiar? Why am I so comfor-"

She held up her hand silencing me. "The answers to your questions are complicated Bear. You have to have faith in me. There are a lot of forces pulling and pushing people's souls around these days. I was moved to help you out in a very direct sort of way. Think of your body as a pawn on this table that has made it to the other side. I'm here to switch your pawn body with a knight's piece."

"That makes no sense of all."

"Yes it does," she replied. "I'm your escort towards being a more effective individual. Do you know what makes individuals more effective?"

I shrugged my shoulders. 

"Will power," she answered. "The power to take your life into your own hands. Your father had a very strong will."

"What does my father have to do with this?"

"You said it yourself in your own prayers Bear. The reason you're finding a lack of will since your father's unfortunate death- is a vulnerability being taken advantage of. His death took part of your ability for self-motivation away. These holes in your heart are prime real-estate. You have a bad buyer. I'm here to remove that and put something better in it's place- if you follow through."

I digested the philosophical depth of her comment with another sip of sweet coffee. Dawn was right. My ability to commit to anything was strangely lacking. I wasn't always that way. I was very effective person in my college years. "Forgive me, but I don't know how to put this," I said. "What does our sexual encounter have to do with my will power?"

Dawn grinned and said, "Everything Bear." Before I could protest she snapped her fingers.

***

I was laying down flat on my back on a soft furry surface, a white, polar bear skin rug! The weight of Dawn's body was pressed above me. She was peering down at me with her blue eyes intently. I looked to my left and saw the source of heat and light, a gigantic stone fireplace with a roaring fire. To my right I saw an oak posted king-sized bed with down comforters. The room, lit only by the amber glow of the fireplace, was lavishly decorated with rustic appeal. It had no doors. Dawn wiggled above me commanding my attention. I realized I was wearing nothing more than boxers. "Do you like?"

"Where are we?"

"My place," Dawn giggled. Her teasing movements above my bulk were spurring dirty sentiments between my legs. "Yeah it's no to shabby," I answered truthfully.

"Good," she said. Dawn leaned over and nuzzled my neck. Her hair tickled me before I felt her lips give gentle sucking kisses, followed by the occasional nibble and lick. My hands slid around her waist, as her panty clad hips rocked against my impending hard-on. This went on until my arousal was steely hard, and her gentle lapping kisses became hungry moans of pleasure. After a few moments of grinding the silk material of her panties grew warm and wet between the mounds my member was centered against. I gathered her flimsy dress in my hands and pulled it upwards. She took the cue and raised her arms so I could pull the dress off. Now we were getting somewhere. Underneath she wore a black lacy bra that barely contained the weight of her breasts.

I took each in my hands and kneaded their yielding flesh between my fingers. Dawn smiled as I massaged her boobs to the point of feeling her firm nipples underneath the material. She reached behind herself and with a tug her bra fell free, releasing her full natural globes from their black confines. The tops of her breasts were beaded with sweat, they hung in a natural teardrop form, lightly tanned in color with light aureolas and centered cafe brown nipples. She lowered them to my face, and my mouth latched upon her perked nipple. I rolled my tongue over it several times, and then bit down on it slightly, causing her to jump. I followed by sucking as much skin as I could into my mouth. My other hand slipping over her other boob and massaged it in a circular motion. This caused Dawn to let out a series of moans before finally admitting, "Oh God Bear, that feels great. You're making me really whet."

My kissing and massaging of her breast went on for a time. Soon I let my hands linger down her chiseled stomach to the hemline of her panties. Dawn showed no objection, so my fingers slid between the soaked silk and her hot flesh. She lifted her hips to my feel, letting my fingers dive downwards against just-shaven mounds. She giggled as my fingers explored, "Go ahead Bear, I want your fat fingers in my honey hole."

I obeyed by separating mounds and diving my fingers into the folds of her sex. I curled my index finger deeply into her flushed flower. "You feel amazing," I complimented as she began to hump my hand. Another thick digit penetrated the tight opening to her sex. My fingers wiggled against her clenching slick walls. I pushed through the tightness and explored her mercilessly for a spot that would induce pure energy into her belly. I found it nearly two inches in her, on the left lower side. The pressure of my finger caused her body to collapse on mine and hug me tightly. She whimpered, "Oh Bear, Mmmm yes right there. Yes!" 




A Pact With Dawn



I was instantly rewarded with a flood of her sexual honey, and the rhythmic pressing of her pussy into my grasp. Her sweaty boobs rocked upon my chest, and she let out keening noises as my fingers strummed an orgasm from her body. My rock hard member poked from the fly of my boxers, and pressed against one of her taught thighs as she quaked with desirous tremors. How I wanted to taste her!

I forgot Dawn could read my mind. She raised off of me with a devilish smile. In one graceful motion she pulled down her panties and stepped out of them. I was awestruck by Dawn's naked beauty. She then turned and crouched over me so her well formed rump was facing me. In the center a clean dark pucker clenched, and slightly below it rested her swollen mounds which barely contained two yummy wet petals of her feminine delicacy. She smelled clean, ladylike and rawly delicious. "Make me cum bear," Dawn said over her shoulder. "I want you to lap up all of my bitter honey." 

That said, Dawn's knees fell back aside my head, and she pressed the carnal center of her desire onto my waiting open jaws. The bitter taste of her washed over my tongue. My hands went to her waist as I lapped at her sex. After a second of positioning, my flat tongue drove across her slit in long laps. I could tell Dawn enjoyed this, because the motion of her sex gently humped against my laps. I repeated my long strokes until she urged me for a change by pressing her pussy back against my face. I then pressed my lips against the upper portion of her slit and darted my tongue in and out of her needy hole. "Oh that's good Bear," she cried out. I felt her head lay down against my soft belly. I was only getting started.

In a single movement, I lapped upwards towards her taint. "Oh Bear," she growled. Lowering her asshole to my reach and dropping her wet sex on my chin. My tongue traced upwards towards her ass. "Oh Bear, you don't have to- OH," she roared!

At the same time my tongue rimmed over her pucker, my thumb entered the top of her slit and pressed against a hot nub in her flower. She pushed her ass back, and I stiffened my tongue french kiss her nether lips. I orally muscled my way into the tightness of her pucker, while my thumb went to work rubbing her clit. She growled, "Bear, you going to make me- oh God- Bear get your mouth- Oh God! Bear that feels amazing but-!" She buckled, "Oh, oooH." My tongue wiggled in and out of her ass. "Enough Bear! Suck my clit! Now!" She demanded.

I obeyed.

She lifted her ass from my oral massage and again pressed her pussy to my hungry mouth. With a moment of maneuvering I explored between her wet mounds for the treasured nub of desire. It took seconds.

I peered upwards as I successfully guided my tongue between her folds and sucked her clit into my mouth. But in that moment I notices something strange. Above her ass a long catlike tail snaked upwards! I felt the weight of Dawn grow heavier, and her audible sounds grow more beastly, yet the form of her body was feminine and human like. "Suckle my clit quickly Bear. Make me cum. Swallowing the fruit of your labor is also the second part of our pact!" Dawn demanded breathlessly with conviction. 

I did, Relentlessly. Again and again I sucked the red-hot nub between my lips and spat it out, only to suck it in again. Above me Dawn's tail thrashed, and I could feel her talons again grip the sides of my belly. Her breath grew hot on my boxers, and then without warning- an unusual sucking kiss swallowed the head of my member into the confines of her mouth. I lifted my ass a bit, and she released me and took a moment to shimmy down my boxers, giving her unabated access to my love organ. I then felt Dawn swallow it down again. Her rougher tongue spurred a new eagerness into my duty on her splayed flower, causing me to eat her with new abandon. 

My hand then crept around the taught cheek of her ass towards the saliva greased pucker. The pressing finger teased around the wrinkled rim. She roared and pressed back causing my thumb slowly drive into her ass. She was warm and tight inside, her anal muscles clenched my digit and I wiggled it ruthlessly. 

Dawn's tail whipped at my regained lapping, and the first wave of a second rocking orgasm shook her body. My tired mouth was flooded with her sexual nectar, which I swallowed up with insatiable hunger. Her juices were warm and tasty to my pallet, I feasted upon them eagerly. Dawn humped my face, each time I ground my fattest finger deeper into her ass. She growled and wiggled as her body rode through wave after wave of pleasurable licking and painful ass prodding. After several moments, her shuddering resided, her humping grew more gentle, her breath became less ragged. I slipped my finger from her ass, and she lifted off of me.

Dawn turned to face me. As she did, I could see that she indeed did have a tail, and her eyes were dilated vertically like a cat. When she spoke, I saw her incisors were slightly pointed behind her red lips. Her voice was still sweet, "Okay Bear, there's one more part of our pact. Do I scare you?"

Oddly I wasn't. "You just look a bit-"

"I am just a manifestation of your desires Bear," Dawn said frankly as she sat astride my stomach. I could feel the wet warmth of her sex on the skin just above my solid erection. "That's why you feel so comfortable with me. I keep my most human form, but when you, well, disrupt my concentration I revert back to well-"

"It's okay. I like it. You're very cute in a sexy feline sort of way."

"Thanks," She said. "Then your ready for the final part of the pact?"

"I guess?"

She leaned back and fully impaled my stiff cock into her oily canal, causing us both to gasp out in surprise. My shock from her sudden ferocious movement. Her sigh perhaps from the depth of my prodding. A forthwith warm feeling flooded through my spine as we aggressively physically consummated a relationship with uneven grinding pushes. "How do I feel?" She asked blatantly.

"Tingly, and kinda hot," I answered as she pressed her hips against mine, driving my head to the squishy soft innards of her sex. She leaned over and nibbled on my earlobe for a moment, the breath through her nose in my ear over delectable sucking sounds. "Listen to me closely. Because we have one shot at this Bear," Dawn whispered, "The tingling is like magic, it's our spirits mingling."

A bead of sweat drew down the side of my face from my temple. I felt Dawn's tongue leave my earlobe and lick it from my cheek in a long wet stroke. Then she kissed the spot over and over before saying, "The heat is purely physical. It's our blood mingling. Making you more like me. Stronger, complete." 

She shifted her hips again, pushing me to the back of her cervix. A feeling that made us grin together. I felt a clench of kegel muscles around my length. "That is where you must cum, no shallower, and not until I cum myself. For mutually mixing the fruits of our labor is the final term of our commitment."

"What- then." I said as she squeezed me inside mid sentence. 

"Mating your Guardian is a forbidden act Bear," she said with all seriousness as she began to rock back and forth in my lap. Her motion caused my shaft to back out of her fleshy flower a bit, before plunging it in again. Each stroke sending a plethora of tingling up through my back. "but it's the most powerful stroke of commitment. You'll release everything holding you back."

She slowly backed off of my stiff cock. Leaving it between us in the night air. "I thought you were just an escort," I pointed out as she stood and walked over to the post of the bed. 

I watched her perfect ass jiggle with each step. Her catlike tail followed her graceful movements. Dawn hugged the pole like a stripper, her toned thigh raising just enough to give me view of the feral pussy my prick had just been in. Dawn held the pose for a moment before she swung her body over the mattress and peered at me with icy feline eyes. "I lied."

"What kind of angel are you?"

"Yours, and a very naughty one at that!" She said while patting her bare rump. "Now are you going to come over here and seal this deal before you go limp?"

I didn't need any encouragement. I rose and approached her slowly, like a lion to his prey. She faced away from me, grabbed a pillow and hugged it tightly. Dawn was bent over the side of the bed, her feet touching the ground, her upper body pressed against the soft pillow and comforter. Her head was turned to the side, her bronze hair cascaded over her smiling face. "That's a good Bear. I want to feel you inside of me."

There was a moment of apprehension, but that was crushed by the vision of her pearly dewed mounds hanging between her thighs. The temptation was too great to resist. I positioned myself behind her taking the sides of her hips into my hands and prodding my cock under her ass. "Oh Bear," she said. "When you slip yourself inside of me, there could be a change, be ready to be more- OOOhh!"

I fed myself into the hungry center of her desire. Instantly I felt the slick walls of pussy were burning hot. "Oh Dawn," I growled as I gripped her sides and planted myself firmly into my sinful angel. I blinked, and I saw she had wings! Huge raven black feathered wings that spread out in a six foot span from her back to the contrasting white down comforter. She looked over her shoulder through her hair with a roguish smile. "Well? What do you think?"

I relaxed my hips, allowing my length to slide of out Dawn. I felt her wet kegel muscles constrict in an attempt to keep me in, but instead almost pushed me out. I then slammed myself forward. Driving myself through her young tightness to the hilt. "Oh!" Her back arched and her wings lifted off the bed a bit with the surge. The stroke sent a sultry tingling sensation up my spine and through my arms and legs. It felt so good! So empowering! She ordered me to do it again. I complied ferociously, causing her to scream out. She ordered me again! I grew strangely angry with tenacity. This led to another repetition of sliding myself out slowly inch by inch, before letting her have it with a single deep stroke." Oh God Bear. Do it again! Harder!" Dawn pleaded. 

I was possessed by our sex, but her orders were so annoying! Anger gripped me. I raised my hand back and brought it down on her ass with a sudden open palmed strike! Her head snapped back and she shrieked! I could feel the impact of my smack on my shaft buried deep in her sex. My hand was hot when I removed it my hand print was on her ass. To my surprise I felt warm juices well up from her insides. "Bear that really hur-" 

"Be quiet," I told her firmly.

She laid still and quiet as I humped at my own pace. Her whimpers turned again to moans. I saw her wings curl back towards her body. Again her sounds provoked me. So I planted myself deep into her rump and gave it to her again with a vicious smack. Again she growled, and again I felt a surge of her sexual juices which I thankfully thrusted into.

Then without warning she raised off of the bed. Her wings folded back at me and my steely member slid from her whet hold. Dawn turned and faced me. She looked me straight in the eye. "As we mate I understand your ego grows," she growled. "But don't forget your role here. I brought this prayer's answer to you." 

With that she laid back from fully me on the bed. Dawn invited me to her by spreading her thighs for me to take her. "Come on Bear."

My lips passed over her taught belly, and quickly moved over her breasts and to her neck, finally kissing her full lips. I was now positioned over her. I felt her hand wrap around my cock and guide it to the entrance of her wantonness. With two pushes I was fully inserted into her warmth again atop the bed. Her legs raised up and wrapped around my hips, drawing me deeper into her. At the same time, her wings spread and wrapped around our mated bodies. So soft was every part of her. We began to rock into each other causing the bed to creak.

We kissed each other hungrily, tongues dancing on each other as my solid prick slipped in and out of her folds with renewed urgency. Our mutual hunger told us the mate would be quick. I humped into my angel like a steady beast. I felt her claws rake my back as our pace increased with our breaths. "Faster," she pleaded between breaths. I obeyed by quickening my pace to shorter, and harder impacts into her bucking hips. Her boobs jiggled against my chest with each piston of our sweat slickened bodies together. Each stroke sent tingles now down my spine, through my balls and through the member stroking her abyss. "Dawn," I pleaded. Her breaths grew short. "Bear I'm-" She warned. I felt the urge to spill into her. "Oh bear! Oh no! Oh God you feel so good!" 

Suddenly Dawn's back arched. I thrusted upwards and sank myself into the deepest confines of her constricting flower and released myself. "Oh No! Wait! Oh God Bear!" With a sudden lurch I felt my member spend hot seed deep into her womb. I backed off before lurching again pumping another stream of hot sticky liquid into her. It felt so good, as if I was purging the weight of sin into her. Dawn's eyes grew wide, as if the realization of our unbridled, uninhibited sex had struck her. I felt her hand on my chest pushing, but it was too late. I pistoned again, sending another spell of sinful love deep into her full angel flower. "Oh, No. Oh yes!" She gave in and hugged me as the waves of her own orgasm overtook any control of her body. I felt gentle shuddering hug of her wings around me. We humped each other in a wild union until our torrid storm of aphrodisia climaxed. We made love until the last spurt of liquid sin subsided from my body into hers, until the last quaking shiver of divine energy washed over our bodies, until the creaks of the bed fell victim to the squishing sounds of diminished pushes into her wet velvety afterglow, until all of the heat and tingling subsided between our bodies, into a myriad of gentle kisses.

We melted into a long session of giggling and cuddling, touching and tickling. In time Dawn and I found each other at the end of the bed, admiring the fire place side by side, our feet toying with each other by the pillows.

"It's done Bear," she whispered. I was exhausted. I suddenly noticed her wings were gone, and Dawn was perfectly human looking being. "Where are your wings?"

She rolled over quickly and took my hand and placed it on her belly. "Our pact is sealed," she said. "We did a very naughty thing, but it's going to make you better."

I looked over at her, "What does that mean?" I asked. 

"It means I've saved you from yourself, but I now carry your burden in my tummy," she explained. "Guardians are forbidden to procreate with their physical clients, because of the end result."

"Which is?"

"I probably shouldn't tell you," she whispered excitedly.

"I think you should," I said, looking at my hand on her belly. I felt a gentle churn under her skin. 

"The birth of a demon. Our demon. The one you purged into me. I think we should name him Chase if it's a boy, Stormy if it's a girl."

I withdrew my hand from her stomach. She looked at me with serious eyes. "I've taken him away from you for a while Bear. This burden was causing you a bunch of problems. You're going to see life is easier. I'll try and be a good mommy to it. So get back to your life and make the most of it, because our baby will have to be dealt with afterwards."

"Afterwards?"

"Well, after life I should say."

Dawn leaned over and pressed her lips to mine, I tried to escape her for the many questions I had! But her open mouth sucked the wind from my lungs. I grew dizzy, then blackness subsided.

***

I stirred awake from my bed by the smell of coffee. My eyes opened one at a time. I was back in my room. I was sweating. What a freaking dream!

I sat up, truly sat up! My stomach seemed a bit tighter, but it could have been my imagination. I did feel a bit stronger. I stumbled to the vanity mirror in the bathroom and flipped on the lights. I saw myself, in much better shape. This was amazing! I flexed my arms, taking a second to admire my new found muscles. I had muscles! I turned my shoulders, and saw a red mark. Upon turning around and looking over my shoulder, I found scratches running down my back. 

Dawn's searing mark of our love making. 

I stumbled out of the bathroom and into the kitchen. Beside the coffee maker was a hand written note with a couple of lines on a memo pad I kept there for messages. I picked it up and read it. 

‘Dear Bear, 

Enjoy the coffee! My ass is really sore! Please don't worry about me though, I can handle our little- demon until you get here. Remember I'll be watching you! So waste no time, my Lovey Bear. This is your show and the clock is ticking. So get too it like I know you can!

Love Forever, 

Dawn'

I poured a cup of coffee, and drank it down. Rewinding and replaying the events in my mind. After the cup was drained, I did feel a bit rejuvenated. A feeling I hadn't felt in the mornings for quite some time. 

I used the energy to purge the apartment of all the pizza boxes and beer bottles, then filled a trash bag with the unhealthy inhabitants of my refrigerator. When finished, I then picked up the phone and dialed information.

"Yeah I need the number to the Synergy Gym."



A Paddle In Amsterdam



Liverpool Airport

Her flight delay brought an intensity of panic not felt since that day six days earlier - since that moment she'd broken free.

Sitting in the Waiting Lounge, her body already sheathed in sweat from the terror that consumed her, her eyes never left the screen, focus solely on that one single word that seemed to sum up her life - delayed. Her panic quickly merged with anger; when she turned to her left to look out the window, she could see her plane, waiting to be boarded! - But when she looked towards the ground, she saw the men; workers crouched down by the wheel, laughing. Bastards! Didn't they know what they were doing to her? Didn't they know what he would do if he found her here? Her mind desperately pleaded with the men as one slowly jacked up the plane in anticipation of a tyre change... 'Hurry... please hurry! Don't let him find me, don't let him stop me from getting on that plane, please let me leave this life behind - let me leave him behind.' Vicious body shakes accompanied her sweats, both increasing in severity as more time passed, her empty stomach lurching with nausea. People surrounding her had moved, fearful of the peculiar looking woman with the plastic bags and ragged clothes. But she didn't care about them. All she cared about was the tyres on the plane and that burning need deep inside her that she finally felt compelled to release - she sat there, oblivious of her surroundings, her attention switching between plane and screen, willing for either the tyres or the word to change.

Moments felt like hours, minutes like weeks, but soon... sweet relief. The tyres were changed and, as the men gradually lowered the plane, the speaker system was announcing she could board. In that moment, her body went cold. Her panic had sent her temperature soaring as it squeezed sweat from her skin, but the instant she knew she could approach the steps that would lead her to her new life, she felt the chill of her perspiration - a visible expression of her fear. In the cold Liverpool air, she walked towards the plane releasing an uncontrollable laughter. People around her looked on, quietly praying they weren't going to be sat near her.

Flying

For Dawn Richards, the flight was a blur.

Sat at the back of the plane, she had only the reassuring smell of freshly disinfected toilets for company. Nobody approached her; nobody spoke to her (not even the Stewards, who seemed more determined than the passengers in wanting to give this strange woman a wide birth) but she didn't care. This was only her second time on a plane - and the first time had lead to an incident she was trying to forget - so she wasn't going to let the snobbery of others bother her.

Besides, Dawn Richards had finally done it. She was free.

With her body sinking into the chair, the last of the planes' wheels finally parted with the tarmac of the Liverpool runway; her new sense of freedom managing to find a comfort in the airplane chair rarely experienced by those in a more fortunate position. She melted away, her mind drifting outside the plane, gliding along on dark thunderous clouds. As she closed her eyes, she saw herself flying with the plane: smelling the crispness in the air; feeling the freezing wind as it tore through her body, ripping out her past and its horrors. She caught a glimpse of the Captain as he navigated his cargo to a new world - a world that held so much promise for Dawn. She saw streetlights below her, merging with the glares emanating from houses; all lit up like the intestines of something from a Sci-Fi Film. To Dawn Richards it was beautiful -so beautiful. Till this moment her life had been full of ugliness, but now, now she'd found her path to freedom.

As she slowly succumbed to exhaustion, Dawn Richards quietly wept, her salt tears caressing her smile. 

Schippol Airport, Amsterdam

She'd been asleep only minutes but on hearing the Captain telling everyone they were approaching Amsterdam, her head jerked up - eyes open - fully rejuvenated.

She was ten minutes away. 

Ten minutes. 

She decided to use the time to focus her thoughts, clarify what she was going to do.

Firstly, she had to get to her hotel. She'd never been to Amsterdam before, and the only time she'd ever travelled abroad, it had been with him - and he'd done all the talking. (And all the drinking!) 

Thankfully, her sister had told her what to do...

"Once you get through Passport Control (easy as long as you don't panic) and you've got your luggage, you need to get a train ticket for 'Centraal Station'. The Airport and the Train Station are all under one cover, and everyone speaks English, so you'll easily be able to get your ticket and find your Platform. Tickets are about 3 Euros. When buying, just ask for Centraal Station, One Way, and what platform.

"When you're on the Platform, you'll be amazed - the trains are double-deckers! Get on a top floor - you'll never do it in England! Anyway, you'll have about a 20-minute ride through various towns and industrial estates before you come to your final stop - 'Amsterdam Centraal'. When you leave the station, there'll be loads of taxis waiting outside. Just climb in one, tell him the name of the hotel and enjoy!"

Anxiously waiting for the wheels to connect with the ground, Dawn Richards remembered these words with vivid clarity. In her pocket she held a card with the Hotel's name written on it - her sister had given it her on leaving, telling her it would be easier to show a card than try and pronounce Dutch. She had to thank her Sister for a hell of a lot. She'd had not only saved Dawn from him (by hiding her in the basement every time he came looking for her) but she'd also insisted that Dawn visit "the Dam" and find herself. Her insistence had been so strong she'd even bought the tickets and booked the hotel. Her sister had told her that if she was going to be free, she might as well do it in the freest cities in Europe.

Her sister had told her of all the places to visit: The Red Light District, the Coffee Houses and the Sex Shops. Her sister was a regular visitor with her husband, using Amsterdam's liberty as a means of access to their own sex life. Many a time Dawn had been shocked by the toys her sister had brought back and demonstrated for her...Studded Dildos, Nipple Clamps and even Anal Starter Kits! But there was one thing that had intrigued rather than shocked. Dawn knew she should have been fearful of it - after all, he'd used similar devises on her before - but when her sister held it, gently stoking the dark leather, brushing her fingers over the handle, before bringing it down on the palm of her hand with such force that Dawn still winced when remembering the sound, she couldn't help but feel fascinated.

Dawn felt a warm glow flow through her as she recalled the image of the paddle.

She remembered the noise it made as it struck her sister's hand, the grimace on her face as pain and pleasure combined, her delightful groan as she slowly licked the palm, quietening the welt of crimson that had emerged there. Something surged through Dawn's body. Her legs became weak and there was lightness in her stomach. She needed privacy to come to terms with what she was feeling but the Seat Belt lights had just been turned on - she was supposed to 'remain seated during descent'. But she had to do something. Looking down towards the end of the plane, she could see the Stewards belted in, happily chatting away to themselves. They wouldn't notice her. She was next to the toilets, she could just sneak in and wash her face in cold water, take a breather. Prepare herself...

Nobody would notice.

Undoing her seatbelt, she crouched forward, eyes firmly fixed on the Stewards. Neither were looking at her. Now was her chance. Quickly, with a light stumble, she collapsed into the Toilet, struggling to close the door behind her spraying legs. For a moment she sat in frozen silence - the worst thing she could do was get herself thrown off a plane and deported at her first attempt at freedom...her sister would die with embarrassment, but worse still, she would be sent back to him...

Nothing.

Either the Stewards hadn't seen her or they weren't bothered. Straightening herself, she leaned against the chrome sink, trying to relax, ignoring her reflection. At first she thought she was going to vomit - the smell of disinfectant combined with that of someone else's faeces was almost too much to bear - but instead she dowsed herself with cold water, bathing her head and neck - trying to regulate her breathing. Sitting on the broken seat, she contemplated what the hell had just happened.

"Must be the excitement", she reasoned. It seemed logical enough - she was starting a new life - but there was something else, something had aroused her, brought about sensations long forgotten.

The paddle.

Instantly the warmth shot through her body, reaching from her head, past her breasts down through her stomach into her legs before returning and residing behind her knickers.

"What the hell's wrong with me?" Her thoughts had found a voice but there was no one to answer. Instead her body spoke, the warmth at the top of her legs intensifying. She quickly pulled down her skirt and flimsy white cotton knickers, assuming she needed to urinate but nothing happened. She tried to think of a waterfall or a dripping tap but instead her mind would only focus on the paddle and the echo it created when hitting flesh.

She didn't know why she had to do this, but she knew it was the only way this was going to end - opening her legs, she slowly moved her right hand over her damp pussy - brushing her index finger against the hardening nub of her clit whilst parting her hair, furtively searching for the wetness inside. As her fingernail gently scratched the tip of her most sensitive area, a power bolt of pleasure ripped through her, dislodging her from the toilet seat. Her breathing grew sharp as she intensified her fingering. Her left hand repeatedly slapped hard against her naked thigh, the crimson palm print deepening the joyful sensations rushing through her body. She rubbed harder against her clitoris, inserting more fingers inside: two, quickly followed by three, then four! The deep heat pulsating from her pussy her told her the orgasm was moments away... 

Welcome to Amsterdam

Amsterdam - Bulldog

Sitting in her luxurious hotel room, Dawn Richards thought once again about what had happened on the plane - her first moments in Amsterdam, and she'd spent it in a plane toilet, masturbating over a paddle. Admittedly, it was the first time she'd had an orgasm in years, and no doubt that if she told her sister she would simply laugh it off, getting some kind of kick out of it, but it worried Dawn.

Was it normal? Was she a pervert? For an hour, Dawn contemplated these thoughts. Stepping into the shower, she looked at the parts of her body that had caused her to blush when leaving the plane lavatory. No one had noticed her returning so there was no need to feel any shame. But standing in the shower, looking at the slight bruise her slaps had given her on her thighs, Dawn wasn't so sure.

When unpacked and dressed, she contemplated her next move. It was 10 O'clock at night - early for Amsterdam. Here she was, sat on the end of the bed in a strange hotel room in a strange city, questioning herself. Anger consumed her. Why should she feel embarrassed? This time last week she was sleeping with a man who'd used her anus as a pencil sharpener. If there was anything to feel embarrassed about, having a wank on a plane wasn't one of them - all the film stars claimed to have joined the mile high club, this was just her own version. Pulling herself together, she decided she was going out - she wanted to know what freedom truly felt like.

The first thing that hit her was the smell. Her hotel wasn't too far from Leidsplein, a busy district about a mile from the Red Light Area, and a place notorious for booze, food and hash. Dope hung on the air, eager for new customers. Walking down the cobbled street, her white blouse and red flowing skirt little protection against the cold November wind, Dawn decided she wanted to taste that smell. Her sister had given her a guidebook at the Airport and pulling it from her handbag she discovered the best place to go for a first timer... The Bulldog.

Situated in the main square of Leidsplein, in-between the Sky Sports Bar and a high quality hotel, the Bulldog was one of a branch of Hash Houses ideally suited for dope connoisseurs of all kinds. Upstairs was situated a bar - decorated in bright red, deep coloured satins and housing people who either preferred beer as their tipple of choice or had got the munches. Downstairs...was a dungeon. Dimly lit with dark wooden tables and a stone floor, this was where people obtained their various types of dope: fags; cakes; mash... all were available at a reasonable price - all very popular. As Dawn precariously made her way down the steps and crossed the dungeon's threshold, she knew she'd finally passed into another world.

*

Despite the dope, despite the beer and despite the lack of sleep, Dawn was feeling pretty damn good. Since entering the Bulldog, she'd had four beers, two cakes, three fags and a sip of a gentleman's milkshake - not bad for someone who rarely drank and had never tasted dope.

He'd never let her have any fun!

Lying on her hotel bed, she pushed the thought of him aside and thought only of the night's events - except everything was a blur. She knew she'd been talking to someone - an English woman who had recognised her naivety and helped her with her choice of narcotic - and she knew she'd met some English men, because they'd told her about such marvellous things... the women in the Red Light District and what they could do for 50 euros - and the other coffee shops: she seemed to remember one called 'The Grasshopper' and being recommended anything from the third floor - but there was something else. She was sure it was the Englishman who'd given her some milkshake in exchange for a kiss, something she readily agreed to - but the more she thought of things, the harder the were to remember.

Looking out of her window, watching the brilliant light of the early dawn spread its wealth over the land, Dawn climbed into bed, a smile on her face as she remembered the previous hours events.

So this was what it felt like to be free.

Amsterdam - Discovery

Sex Museum.

Her sister had mentioned it in passing, and the kissable lad from the previous night had highly recommended it - it was the something that she'd been trying to remember when falling asleep...visit the Sex Museum.

*

She wasn't sure about this. Walking down Damrak, Amsterdam's busiest street as it led straight from Centraal Station to Dam Square - the hub of the city - Dawn contemplated whether she was making the right move. She wanted to be free but did that mean doing things she wasn't sure about? Reasoning that as long as no one got hurt, then it was worth a trip, another step on her journey and besides, if she didn't like it she could easily walk away. She found the subtly hidden museum behind a restaurant. She was surprised at how quiet it was. Paying her 10 Euros, she entered...

Within minutes, she was bored. It was all the same... masks, porn, vibrators, pissing, animals and more porn. None of it interested her - admittedly it shocked her, but she was by no means 'turned on' by the experience like the lad had promised her she would. What was it he'd said? "Someone like you will get a real damp patch in that place... there's one section..." What the hell did he mean by that, and where was that section? So far, she'd been round most of the building and the only thing she'd found mildly erotic was the 18th Century section which showed men and women doing things the Victorians had claimed never existed! But he'd been so certain...

Suddenly she knew. Walking through the door, she saw the wooden paddle hanging on the wall, leather whip close by. S and M. Entering, her eyes were swamped with images... whips, chains, belts, photos of people being spanked, red skin, welts, pain! It was all there to see but there was an over-riding factor... pleasure. They were all happy! Every photo - no matter how staged - showed someone receiving a smack and getting shear, naked ecstasy out of it! Dawn felt weak. The joy she was witnessing in the photos hit her hard, making her sway... she was experiencing everything the women on the receiving ends of those whacks was experiencing. It was amazing. Her mind was absorbing everything, taking in all she could see, storing it for later... 

She had to get out. Running to the toilets, she slammed herself into a cubicle. Not caring if anyone heard her, she tore at her knickers, pulling them past her ankles. Sitting down, she reached for her handbag, her hand clasping on the one thing that might come close to offering a relief... her flat-backed hairbrush.

Parting her vulva, she stroked her erect clit, feeling the electric sensation course through her body...taking the handle of the hairbrush she plunged it deep inside, using it as a makeshift dildo. Quickly and violently she brought herself to orgasm, only removing the hairbrush at her moment of climax so she could bring the handle down hard against the side of her thighs, just short of her slim white arse.

Twice she'd cum in Amsterdam; twice she'd used a makeshift paddle.

Sitting in a cubicle deep inside the Sex Museum, Dawn Richards made another monumental decision about her life. Pulling her knickers up, she left the cubicle, chatting to the attractive yet bemused woman washing her hands.

Amsterdam - Six Years Later

The number six was important to Dawn Richards.

She moved to Amsterdam six days after leaving her abusive husband of six years, she found a job six days after arriving and she found a flat in the Jordaan District six weeks after starting her job.

Her flat was number six.

And now, six years after touching down at Schippol Airport, Dawn Richards and the kissable man from the Bulldog...

*

"You're late."

"Sorry but I had to..."

"Quiet!"

"Sorry."

"When I say quiet, I mean quiet. I don't mean 'keep on talking', or 'reply to questions never asked,' and I certainly don't mean 'disturb my class!'"

Dawn remained silent, not wanting to upset the man anymore. He stood at the front of the class, demanding respect from all those who sat in his presence. It had been like that in the Bulldog, that night six years ago... whenever he spoke, everyone hung on to his every word - male of female, it didn't matter - all seemed to be grateful to be in this man's presence.

"You've done this before, and I've warned you time and time again what would happen..."

"I know, but..."

"Shut up! That's it... I've warned you and you've done nothing but flaunt my authority! Now you'll pay - come here!" Watching the expectant faces of the class, she slowly approached, head bowed. They'd done this before, but each time this scenario appeared she was apprehensive - scared even. Sometimes he could go to far, take her pain beyond pleasure, but then other times...

She watched as he opened the draw, revealing the leather paddle - her face flushed when she saw a guy's face close to where she stood - his mouth open in shock and anticipation - she wanted to smile and reassure him...but that wasn't part of the game.

"Lift your skirt and bend over the table." It was said so matter of fact, but this time there was something different - why hadn't he told her to remover her knickers? It was what they had arranged, but suddenly things had changed..."Do you want me to take my panties off," she asked, her voice a mixture of fear and coyness.

"Did I say take your panties off? No I did not - so please, for once, do as your told!"




A Paddle In Amsterdam



Confused, she pulled her blue gym skirt high over her waist and bent over the wooden desk, moving his books to get a proper grip of the tables edges. Behind her, she heard people's gasps as they saw the white thong being devoured by her slim tanned ass. She tightened her grip in anticipation...

The first smack hit her lower rump, stinging the sensitive area like something she'd never felt. In that one moment, any inhibitions she'd had about her panties were lost - the force of the impact made her feel like she was a virgin again! She felt her blood rush to the surface of her buttocks, trying to protect the tender area but before she could relax - smack - the second spank struck her across the base of her right buttock. She stifled a scream, knowing it would ensure more and harder hits, wanting to keep that pleasure for at home - but perhaps home could wait - again the paddle came down on her arse, the force shocking those witnessing the act. She'd love to see their faces. She tried to turn her head, wanting to gain even more from the experience but a hand on her neck stopped her..."I don't remember telling you to move!"

He was pulling at her thong, dropping the paddle as he moved the cotton to one side - this was new... different...exciting! She was wet. Her open sex revealed to the class, she was sure that those closest would be able to smell her pleasure, but she didn't want to reveal too much - she always felt the ultimate pleasure should have been kept for at home - but that was about to change. She heard his zipper open..."this is for talking..."

She squealed in delight as his hot penis entered her, her juices ensuring easy access. His hands were on her shoulders, holding her down as he pumped his hips into her arse -the joy she was experiencing was beyond words! Faster he moved, each thrust seeming to reach a new part of her. He moved her hips backwards, smacking her rump with his left hand as he fumbled round, reaching for her hardened clitoris. This was his only moment of tenderness - hidden away from the class he stroked her like he had done on that first night, kind and slow.

The orgasm began to force its way through her legs, making her weak. She moaned in anticipation...

"Not yet, not till I say..."

He withdrew his cock but before she could feel any loss, he slipped it gently into her anus, her own fluids acting as lubricant. Her body tightened - again this was new, they didn't usually do this in front of a class but... it was fantastic. Her screams increased as both of his hands gripped her arse, squeezing and slapping, knowing that such action would finish her orgasm. Within moments she was there, she beat the desk as her body convulsed under his weight, not wanting him to stop but unable to carry on. Her body was in confusion - she was back on the plane, back in the sex museum, experiencing something new once again - she was ecstatic that they were to be married.

As if in response to the thought, she heard him groan as his hand came down on her left buttock and slapped her harder than ever experienced with the paddle - and then she felt it... his cum exploded into her rectum, spasm after spasm filled her juicy arse before seeping over her soaked vulva as he finally withdrew. Pulling his dick back behind his zipper he sniffed, tasting the smell of sex in the air.

"And let that be a lesson to you."

Amsterdam - Six Years and Fifteen Minutes later.

Standing up, she moved her thong back into position. She needed to use the toilet, but before she could do that, she had to speak to the class...

"When I first moved here six years ago, I was downtrodden, scared and on the run. I was fleeing an abusive husband and a life I had no wish to ever live again. I was lost and afraid... and then I met this man" - she pointed to her future husband, beaming - "he saw something in me only my sister had ever hinted at, something that was buried so deep inside I had no idea it even existed. But he found it. He showed it to me, and over the last few years, he's nurtured me, taught me and loved me and now finally, he's brought me to this point - to you. What you've just witnessed was an expression of our love. Okay it's not to everyone's taste but that doesn't make it wrong. Even I have to admit that the first time I was spanked in public, I battled with my conscience, wondering if I was 'abnormal'. But I was just using other people's lives to measure against my own. The only people experiencing pain in this relationship are ourselves, and unlike in my previous life where I was beaten black and blue on a daily basis - 'but never in the face Dawn, never in the face... we don't want the neighbours seeing', I have control over this pain. This is why we have set up this class.

"Too many people try to tell you what's right and what's wrong -we're here as an antidote to those people. I have spent too many years living in fear of others, too many years looking over my shoulder. Thanks to this man, all that has changed. This is why I have set up this class. Watch us, learn from us, but most importantly of all, don't be afraid of who you are or what you do...

"Now if you'll excuse me, I can feel something running down my leg."

Picking up her bag, Dawn kissed her future husband on the cheek, gently whispering 'thank you'. Running through the door, she smiled on hearing the sound of applause emanating from the classroom.



A Paean of Triumph



It was the third movement of the symphony and as I took in the music, I looked at her through half closed eyes. She sat on the couch, her face seeming to reflect the mood the mood of the music.

The first and second movements of the symphony draw the listener ever more deeply into the darkness of the human condition. The pain and suffering, our greed and self-indulgence, then the third movement plunges still deeper, drawing us into the horrors, the torture chamber of the tyrant, concentration camps, the casual carelessness of nature’s despoilers, war and its useless destruction. Ever deeper into the dark corners of the subconscious it leads the listener on.

The bass strings sank growling into miasmic gloom. Her enigmatic face, partially shielded by her black hair, melancholy as she absorbed the sombre phrases, sadly reflective and combining with that sadness an odd look of yearning.

I continued to watch her. One would not call her beautiful or pretty. Her looks were something less and something more than that. They were uniquely her own; not to be compared to the standards set by advertisers or television soaps. Her black hair, dark eyes, bronze complexion and her slender physique gave her a mysterious yet sensuous look. 

If an artist wanted a model for an enchantress, she would be ideal. I saw her in that moment as a weaver of spells, the creator of love potions. This she conveyed to me sitting in tranquil sadness, letting the music carve her mood. 

Then the fourth and final movement burst forth. 

From the brass a paean of triumph, followed by the strings taking up the theme in a hymn of praise, then the whole orchestra proclaiming the victory of the human spirit over suffering and adversity. Despite all, we shall prevail! 

I looked up at her again and the new, victorious mood had taken over. Seeing me looking at her she gave me that beguiling yet ambiguous smile of hers, displaying white even teeth. Within that smile, there was a hint of danger. It made me think of a huntress as she detects her prey. I returned her smile in no way disconcerted by that which others found slightly disturbing about her. I had, after all, known her since birth, she being my mother. 

If, as I have said, she might not be described as beautiful, this had not stopped men seeking her, supplicating for her slightest attention, imploring her to join them in everything from a one night stand to marriage. The story is that on the way back from my father’s funeral she had received her first proposition. She had disallowed them all.

To reverse my metaphor of the huntress, I sometimes think it was a sort of animal grace that attracted men to her. Perhaps like the tigress, beautiful in its lissome movements, yet dangerous, she must have presented a challenge to her male admirers, as those who hunt the real tiger pit themselves against it.

From my youthful observations of the male maneuvers around her, it seemed that she was a sexual rampart to be stormed, and before which all fell in the attempt. Yet still the hopefuls came. Her magic drew them to her, only to be sent away disappointed or even angry at being repulsed.

Some women, noting her resistance to men, decided that her sexual orientation was more in their direction. They too were repulsed from sexual fortress Salome, some departing in tears.

Mother seemed to have the sexual allure of the girl whose name she bore, who was rewarded by Herod with the head of John the Baptist for her “Dance of the Seven Veils.” 

In all the years after my father’s death, I never saw any signs of a sexual relationship between mother and a man – or woman for that matter. Men visited our house or were met at social gatherings elsewhere, but none became my stepfather or temporary “uncle.” If there was any sexual relationship, it was kept very concealed from a jealous young boy resentful of any man who might win his beloved mother’s affections. 

Why mother kept herself so chaste, I knew no better than those who came in pursuit of her. I can recall no signs that she was unfulfilled. She had no difficulty in talking to me about sex, emphasising its beauty and the bond it built between a man and woman. I gathered from the way she spoke, that the sexual relationship with my father must have been a deeply satisfying one.

So, as I approached adulthood, and having my own sexual needs to wrestle with, I puzzled over why a woman, still sexually in her prime, and clearly desirable, had no lover or lovers.

Perhaps it was a case of the “pot calling the kettle black”? Unusual for our times, at eighteen I was still a virgin. I of course knew that most of my university acquaintances, both male and female, engaged in plenty of promiscuous sex. 

I didn’t seem to lack opportunities, and certainly, I had my sexual needs, but one night stands or scuffles on the back seat of a car did not seem to appeal. Perhaps I was greedy and wanted something more? If some people would like to have said to mother, “Get thee to a nunnery,” they might equally have said to me, “Get thee to a monastery.”

The symphony was drawing to its triumphal close. It is odd, but this sort of music can have a sexually teasing effect on me, and now I could feel a tingling in my groin. At the end of the work mother rose and came across to where I was sitting. Leaning over me she said, “I shall go to bed now, darling.” 

As so often before, as she came close I detected her aroma. It is not the aroma of perfume or deodorant, but that of woman, sweet and tantalizing. She kissed me and as she did so the top of her dress fell open slightly to give me a vision of unrestrained breasts, firm and pink nippled, like those of a young girl. Her lips on mine were soft and moist, seeming to engulf mine with tenderness.

“Goodnight, Matthew. Sleep well and dream beautiful dreams.” Then she quietly left the room.

Her alchemy worked on me as well. The Sorceress had me under her spell. With my olfactory memory still relishing my mother’s aroma, and the finale of the music exulting in my head, I went to my bed.

In the early stages of sleep, when the guardian of the subconscious begins to relax thoughts and desires repressed during waking hours begin to surface. Among the repressed material are our hidden sexual cravings. On this night as I began to drift off, fantasies of nubile maidens, sweet breasted and willing, floated before me. One feature of these phantom images was that they had no faces until suddenly, and seemingly unbidden, one took on the face of mother.

It had happened before a number of times, and on each occasion, my guardian of the depths startled me awake. I woke now, and as before I began to wonder if I was psychologically sick – a moral idiot to conjure such imagery of my mother.

I fought against sleep for a while fearing I might produce the same fantasy, but after a while drifted off and this time passed into deeper sleep where most times dreams are unremembered upon waking.

Tonight, however, I was not to be granted the mercy of unremembered dreams. Having descended to the depths of sleep, a dream more startling, more vivid than I had ever had before brought me back to wakefulness, sweating and shaking. 

Mother was naked under me, smiling and saying gently, “It’s time Matthew.” The tip of my penis approached her opening; then, about to enter her, I woke.

I had a fiercely throbbing erection and had to masturbate to relieve the unbearable tension of it, spraying semen over my belly in a great pool. When I finished a wave of self-loathing swept over me. How could I even begin to consider mother in that light? She had never by hint or gesture ever implied a sexual interest in anyone, and certainly not in me. 

“Oh God, what sort of an animal am I to desire even in dreams, my own mother?”

I slept poorly for the rest of that night.

Fortunately, I had my university studies to keep me occupied, and for the next week mother and I saw each other only in passing as we went about our work. No more vivid dreams occurred, but I found myself trying to avoid any close contact with mother. It was as if I sensed danger. Perhaps I might in an unguarded moment say or do something that would reveal the thoughts and feelings I strove to repress. 

I began something like a process of self-analysis, seeking to understand why I should be experiencing erotic dreams about mother. That I loved her was certain. I refused to escape into denial of my love. Such rejection would be to denigrate all the love and care she had conferred on me from the time I can first remember. 

What I wanted to know was how or why my love had started to assume a sexual content. I understood about infantile sexuality, but according to the therapists, it eventually transferred itself to a safe object. Why was this not happening to me? Why did I not accept the suggestions of my girl acquaintances, and bed them?

The answer continued to evade me.

Mother and I had always been very tactile with each other, touching and hugging. I began avoiding this tactility, and mother noticed and was hurt.

I don’t think I was a surrogate for my dead father. I am sure her holding and touching was out of genuine affection for me, and mine certainly was for her.

One evening she asked, “Is something wrong, Matthew?”

“No, why?”

“You seem to be avoiding being near me lately. Have I upset you, or do I smell bad?”

I tried to laugh this off saying, “No, you always smell very nice.”

“Then what?”

“I suppose I’ve been a bit immersed in my work lately.”

I could see mother did not believe this, but she pretended to accept it.

It was our first evening together for more than a week after my dream, and we watched a video mother had borrowed from the library. It turned out to be a rather sexually explicit film that had the effect of giving me an erection.

When it was finished mother gave a throaty sort of chuckle and said, “Rather open, don’t you think? I’m off to bed now, darling. Sleep well and have beautiful dreams.”

She bent to kiss me and it was almost a rerun of the week before. Her fragrance, the sight of her breasts, even her words were similar. I gulped “Goodnight,” and she left.

I found I was shaking with emotion, so I fled hastily to my bed. I thought I had managed to get myself under control regarding my feelings for mother, but I obviously hadn’t.

Happily I had no fantasies during my early sleep, and must have gone into deep slumber fairly quickly. It was then it happened again, but this time the dream did not wake me. This time mother sat astride me saying as she had said in the previous dream, “It’s time, Matthew.”

The dream did not wake me, but mother did. She was shaking me saying, “Wake up, Matthew, your having a bad dream.”

Almost at once, I could feel my semen soaking the sheet under me. I must have ejaculated in my sleep.

Mother sat on the bed asking, “Whatever were you dreaming? You woke me up with your cries. What was it?”

I was still drowsy and partially caught up in my dream, but I managed a lie. 

“I don’t know.”

“Well, whatever it was, it involved me,” mother said. “You were calling out my name; “Salome, Salome.”

“Oh, was I? How odd!”

“Do you think you can get back to sleep, or shall I get you something to drink?”

“No, I’ll be all right.”

Mother looked doubtful, but bade me another goodnight, and planting a kiss on my lips, went back to bed.

As soon as I felt it safe to do so, I stripped the bed and tried to remake it with the wet patch of my sperm away from where I lay. I barely slept the rest of the night worrying about the dream and my outcries.

From then on hardly a night passed when I did not dream of having sex with mother. Always she spoke the same words in the dream; “It’s time, Matthew.” I began to get paranoid about my dreaming, and took to fighting to stay awake. Only when extreme tiredness overtook me did I sink into slumber and dream my dream.

Some nights, mother had to wake me, and it seemed that I was always calling out her name, “Salome.” Mercifully, on most nights, I either did not call out, or at least I did not wake mother, yet morning after morning my sheet had a pool of sperm.

My distress concerning the dreams and a lack of proper sleep began to take its toll. From being a very fit sort of person, I began to look and feel unwell. My studies began to suffer and my grades began to drop. I seemed unable to concentrate properly or settle to anything.

At this point, a faculty social event took place. We were supposed to bring along a partner and having been preoccupied with my problem over mother and dreams, I had failed to ask any of the girls I knew. Not wishing to miss the event, I asked mother to accompany me. The outcome was one that set me on yet another train of thought concerning her.

As far as I knew none of my fellow students had ever met mother, and she asked me to introduce her as Salome, and not mention she was my mother. The consequence of this had a disturbing effect on me.

Mother had on a black dress that was slit to halfway up her thighs and also displayed the tops of her breasts to good effect. The dress was in fact at least a generation out of date since the fashion now is to dress as scrappily as possible for all occasions. 

Our arrival was a sensation. Every eye, especially the male eyes, swiveled to focus on mother. I felt embarrassed at this attention, but mother seemed hardly to notice it. I thought that it was because she was about the only elegantly dressed person present that she was being looked at. I was soon disabused.

At one point in the evening mother had wandered off and I found myself surrounded by male students, and was bombarded with questions:

“Who the hell is she?”

“Where did you meet that beauty?”

She’s a stunner, you lucky bugger.”

“Has she got any sisters?”

“How did you get a knockout like her in tow?”

“Let me know when you’re finished with her.”

“Do you and she…you know…?

Physically I am reasonably formidable although given to peaceful ways, but I think the look in my eye stopped the last speaker in mid sentence, sensing he was treading on forbidden ground.

The girls present were not quite so friendly, apparently resenting that I had brought along someone who put them all in the shade as far as the boys were concerned.

The effect on me was bewildering. I had a mother who could attract young men half her age – my age – and I found myself getting angry and jealous at the attentions they paid her. They all wanted to fetch her food and drink and dance with her. Mother seemed to be enjoying all this, which I further resented. How dare she enjoy their attentions when I wanted…wanted what?

It was a very mixed up and frustrated Matthew who escorted Salome home that night.

Arriving home mother put her arms round me and kissed me; “Thank you, darling, it was a lovely evening. I’m off to bed now, sleep well and have beautiful dreams.” Those words again!

I could feel the warmth of her body against mine, alluring – provoking – the sorceress casting her spell – the siren call of unendurable yearning. “Oh God, is she bewitching me?”

That night my dreams of mother were more intense than ever.

For the next fortnight the dream became ever more vivid and I became increasingly debilitated. Then one evening, just after mother and I had finished listening to a piece of music, she said, patting the couch beside her, “Come and sit next to me, Matthew.”

When I had sat she took my hand and looked at me with her penetrating eyes. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it darling? What is it?”

I tried to sidetrack the question and said something about my studies not going too well.

“It’s more than that, isn’t? I can see how pale and restless you’ve become the past weeks…”

I cut in with something about being a bit run down, but it did no good. Mother is too astute to be taken in by that sort of thing.

“It’s those dreams, isn’t, darling. The one’s I’ve had to wake you from. You’ve been getting them every night, haven’t you? Can’t you tell me what they are about?”

I still thought to try to bluff my way out of this, but seeing mother’s intent stare, I decided on the truth.

“Yes, it’s the dreams, but I can’t tell you about them.”

“Why not, darling. Getting them out in the open might help.”

“I can’t tell you, mother.”

“Then I’ll tell you,” she said. “They’re sexual dreams, aren’t they?”

I must have looked startled, because she went on, “Darling, there’s nothing odd about my knowing, I see your sheets when I put them in the washing machine, and I know semen stains when I see them.”

I was mortified, but having been pushed into a corner, I surrendered saying, “Yes, they’re sexual dreams.”

“And they’re about me, aren’t they?” 

This really rocked me to the core. How could she know that?

The answer was simple and she, seeing my confusion, gave it to me.

“I know because it’s my name you always call out.”

I felt my face go red with shame as I stammered out, “Yes, they’re about you…I’m so sorry mother…I’ve tried not to…”

She had been questioning me in a very quiet voice, but now in a whisper I heard her say what sounded like, “At last.”

I tried to continue my abject apology but she would not let me.

“Darling, we can’t help our dreams. You might be horrified if you knew some of the things I dream. The real question is, have you been having sexual feelings about me when you’re awake?”

Did she intend to humiliate me completely? To show me what a disgusting wretch I was? I mumbled, “Yes.”

“Thank you for telling me that, my love. You see I knew that as well. I’ve seen your erections at times when you’ve been looking at me. By coming out in the open you’ve made it easier for me.”

“Mother? How is it easier for you?”

I would have thought it would be harder for her, knowing her son had carnal feelings for her.

She had appeared to be her usual calm self, talking quietly, but now there was a glitter of excitement in her eyes as she replied. Being close to her, I could see her pupils dilated and her breathing had become rapid, her breasts rising and falling quickly. Her skin seemed to glow and she was having trouble remaining still. 

I had never seen her like this before, my usually controlled mother so agitated.

After a long pause in which we sat staring at each other, she rose and said in a tight voice, “You could ask me how I feel about you. It may surprise you to know, my love, that I have feelings too.”

She loosened the top of her skirt and let it fall to the floor, then proceeded to take her panties off. Her lower half now exposed she sat back on the couch and opened her legs to reveal her genitals.

I seemed to be suspended in space, hypnotised by her crevice nestling in its pubic hair. I felt slightly sick with apprehension and there was a singing noise in my ears. I knew that whatever was said or done now, our lives together would be changed forever. We could never again reestablish the sort of bond that had held us from my birth until now. Something new was being born in our relationship, and as with many people, I always feel a sense of loss for what is departing, and uneasiness about what the new will bring.

She tried to speak, but by now, her breathing had become heavily laboured, and she seemed unable to get the words out. She stared at me for a moment longer as if trying to assess how I was responding to what she had done then she gasped:

If you want me, my love, come into me now.

It was in the open for both of us now. There could be no recriminations except those we leveled at ourselves, and was there any point in that? In perhaps over dramatic terms the thought came to me, “For us, this is the ‘Valley of the Shadow.’” The dark chords of the third movement of the symphony began to resound in my head. “What have we said? And in saying it what have we brought upon ourselves? What lies beyond the ‘Valley’? ‘Green pastures’?”




A Paean of Triumph



She found steadier voice at last and spoke very low and rapidly and without inflection, like someone that had rehearsed the words and wanted to get over them as quickly as possible.

“I’ve wanted you since you came to sexual maturity. I’ve kept myself for you hoping that one day this would happen. It’s been torment at times not being able to speak out, to say “I love you, my darling, I want you.” I fought it for such a long time, my love. I told myself it was wrong and hid what I felt from you. I’ve loved you as a mother, but came to love you as a woman.”

She stopped abruptly. I could see she was crying, something I had never seen her do before. She was open to me and her arms extended to receive me. I rose, removed my trousers and underpants and came to her as she lay back on the couch.

Her arms enfolded me and she burrowed against me, murmuring, “You only need to do it with me once. If you don’t like it, that’s the end. I know you haven’t been with a woman before, but I’ll teach you my love, I’ll show you what to do. I just want to love you, to give to you. There’s no harm in showing someone how you love them. I’ll make it so beautiful for you, just let me show you, just this once.”

I needed no encouragement; I was going out of my mind wanting her but through inexperience did not know how to proceed. She took the initiative. Moving away from me and rising said: “Don’t try to do anything this time, darling, just leave it to me.”

She got me to stretch out on the couch and sat across me. I tried to see what she was doing as she lowered herself on to my shaft gently and unhurriedly. The tip of my penis pressed against her opening, and for the first time, I felt the moist warmth of a woman.

As she lowered herself and I slid into her, I was overcome with ecstacy. I had not imagined how soft and smooth a woman’s vagina could be. Then suddenly I felt my shaft gripped as she flexed her vaginal muscle and then relaxed it again. She began to do this repeatedly causing me to cry out: “Mother, oh mother…” 

She began whispering; “You like that darling? I’ll show you how much I love you. Just let me love you, make you feel wonderful. I know what you need; I’ve always known what you need, and mother’s going to give it to you because mother loves you so much, my darling. I’ve waited for you so long.”

I seemed to be in some sort of paradise. I lay there as she flexed and relaxed, moving up and down on me. I had no idea how to hold back from an orgasm, so it took little time for me ejaculate. She must have felt it approaching.

“Let it all go, darling. Put it all in me, it’ll be so good for you, and I’ll love having your beautiful sperm in me. Let it go.”

I did just that. Acting out of some primal instinct, I seized her hips, dragging her down onto me, striving for the greatest depth to plant my seed. She united with me in this struggle, crying out:

“Deeper, deeper…give me a baby…I want your baby…please…please…all of it in me…”

The instinctive urge to reproduce the species seized us both. The deep desire of man and woman to have their love union produce – have an outcome – to make the act of sexual coupling transcend itself to encompass another being. In the release from our frustrated desire for each other, we strove for new life.

My seed detonated into her like a bomb exploding. I think I cried out incessantly, “Mother, oh mother!” and she, weeping, “Yes…yes…yes…!”

Finished we lay together, she kissing my face and stroking my body murmuring, “Oh God, what a beautiful being I have made.”

I strove to assemble my thoughts. My first time with a woman and she my mother! She had said that I only needed to be with her once, and if I didn’t like it…There was no turning back, her enchantment was too potent, the magic too strong. We had crossed a frontier to enter a new Eden where all things are new and ingenuous.

I looked at her, dark and inscrutable, “The Woman”, as always mysterious, beautiful and unfathomable to man. She had woven her spell, and I was vanquished, and I rejoiced, the paean of triumph resounding in my brain. I surrendered to her, only to feel victorious.

Now she was no longer mother, but Salome, as she had been in my dreams, Salome my love, my mistress.

As these contradictory thoughts, the thoughts that must surely assail all lovers, whirled round in my brain, Salome stirred.

“Come to bed with me darling.”

Those words reassured me that the bonding had been mutual. She too had found fulfilment.

We showered, my manhood rising at her soapy gentle massaging. Entering her bedroom, a shiver ran down my spine. This was where she and father…

I must have looked my thought, for she said, “Yes, this is where you were made, but there are no ghosts, nothing need haunt you. From now on, this is our bed, not just mine. No other man shall enter it, my love, only you.”

I entered.

It was now that my lack of sexual experience became clear to both of us. I didn’t know what to do. I looked at the delicious curve of her breasts, and the slight rounding of her belly that served to lead the eye to her mons, and then line of pubic hair running to the cleft of her vulva.

The normally austere Salome seemed to have been transformed into a soft, yielding and thrilling being. She must have perceived my perplexity because she said:

“Kiss me darling, and touch me here.”

She moved my hand to her breast and gently squeezed it over her soft flesh. At the same time, she brought her lips to mine, and forcing my lips apart she entered with her tongue, seeking in every corner of my mouth. 

I quickly found my own response, and laid her on her back, making my own exploration of her mouth with a growing frenzy.

As we broke from the kiss she said, “Suck my nipples darling.”

I obeyed, and heard her whispering words of love interspersed with little gasps of pleasure.

Her hand found my penis and began to stimulate it until she asked, “Would you like to see my vagina?”

Of all the female physical mysteries, this was the one most unknown to me. I had, as it were, some theoretical knowledge of the organ, but had never actually seen one properly. I affirmed that I would like to see.

Salome moved to the edge of the bed, parted and drew up her legs so her feet rested on the bed and said, “Kneel in front of me, sweetheart.”

Kneeling on the floor I looked at her cleft which was all I could see, but Salome placed her fingers on either side of it and said, “These are the outer lips,” pulling them apart she went on, “These are the inner lips.”

I saw what looked like two pink rose petals that Salome proceeded to open saying, “And this is my entrance. You were born through there, and that’s where your penis belongs.”

Once another penis had poured its seed in there and began the process that brought me into this world and to this moment. The boundless depths of woman!

Salome was speaking again, and as she did so lifted a little hood of skin at the top on her vagina. “This is my clitoris. It’s a sort of nerve centre intended for pleasure.”

I saw a little nub of flesh.

“Kiss me there, darling.”

I needed no second bidding. I found her sexual organ fascinating and looking at it had brought me to new heights of arousal. I wanted to do far more than simply kiss it. I leaned forward to place my lips on the clitoris, and inhaled her fragrance, a fragrance I had faintly experienced most of my life, the aroma I detected whenever I had been close to her. I had no word or phrase for it, but it became known to me as “Woman Perfume.” 

Breathing in her smell, I almost became frenzied with lust for her. I thrust my tongue against her clitoris, now not only smelling her, but tasting her as well. From her clitoris my tongue searched for and found her opening, thrusting in, longing to consume her.

I heard her little squeals of pleasure and felt her hands behind my head, holding me to her. Then her voice:

“Come into me now, its time, Matthew.” 

The words of my dream!

She moved back on to the bed, opening herself to receive me, and guiding me in. The soft, moist warmth, the flexing muscles, then the contradictory broken pleadings of a woman approaching orgasm.

“No, my darling, no, it’s too much…too painful…don’t make me…please don’t make me…please…”

In my inexperience, I began to withdraw, thinking I was hurting her and her pleading changed, rising to almost a scream.

“No, no, don’t leave me, don’t stop…” Her long slender legs wrapped around me, dragging me into her.

I pressed in again and for the first time had the amazing experience of a woman’s orgasm. No words I can write will ever adequately describe this wondrous event. On this, my first occasion, I found it frightening yet magnificent. The cries of “No” changing to “Yes, yes, yes.” The first vibrations of her whole body growing in intensity until I had to hold her firmly to stay with her. The climax accompanied by wordless screams then weeping. Finally, the slow climb down from the heights with words of passionate love pouring out:

“I love you my darling, I love you, don’t leave me, don’t leave me.”

I took these words in the general sense, thinking she was asking me to go on living with her. Later I was to discover that she meant me to stay inside her while her orgasm calmed towards post coital tranquility.

Because I had already ejaculated into her once, I took a little longer to do so this time. It was towards the end of her orgasm I felt the mounting pressure, and discharged into her.

This seemed to revive her orgasm and she clung to me with arms and legs, now softly moaning, “Deep…deep…Oh my love…”

I thought I would never stop pumping into her, but the end came.

She burrowed into me as she had before, as if she were some frightened little animal sheltering from a predator. She muttered softly as if to herself, but they were words of love for me.

I held her, speaking haltingly my own words of tenderness and desire for her. She was warm and soft against me – somehow different from the loving, but at times austere mother I had known all my life. She was relaxed and looking at her face as it pressed against my chest, it seemed that years had been taken from her. There was a youthful yet serene look about her.

I felt myself grow languid, and just before I passed into what proved to be a dreamless sleep, I heard her speak:

“I waited so long, my darling…”

The days that followed were exhilarating. The paean of triumph continued. The weather was warm, and I cannot remember us dressing. We moved around naked, rejoicing in each other’s bodies, touching, kissing and hastening back to bed to make love once more.

I was so bound up and enraptured with Salome that for a week I did not attend to my studies at all. It was she who eventually called me to account, pointing out that we had plenty of time for love making without my ruining the rest of my life for the sake of sex. 

This did not indicate any diminution in our desire for each other, but was recognition, that life is not all about sex. 

This was reinforced when towards the middle of the month after we first coupled, Salome was able to announce she thought herself pregnant. Her doctor later confirmed this. What she had pleaded for on our first coming together, had come to be, and we were delighted that our love had born fruit. It did, however, mean that I had added responsibility. 

As write Salome is seven months into her pregnancy, and is very well and looking truly lovely. I wonder if we shall be able to repeat the fruition?



A Paga Girl on Gor



Chapter One - Beast 13 is graded. 

The slaver looked down at me.

I trembled a little.

He was fully clothed, in robes, sandals, and so on, and sat, comfortably sprawled on a high-backed chair, legs outstretched, his feet between my widely splayed knees, inches from my fully displayed sex. His belly was large, and on it, balanced In his hands, he held a sort of folder.

I was nude, and knelt on the floor, as I had been commanded. 

All I had was the collar about my neck, the mark. like a flower, that they had burnt into my thigh, and my hoop earrings, the only reminder of my former, rather more extensive clothing.

There was little doubt as to the hierarchies pertaining in our relationship. 

The most obtuse bystander would have been able to surmise that he was in a position of control and authority over me. 

This was true of course, as he was Thurnus, a slaver, and head of the house, and I was a slave. 

I had been in the slaving house for what had seemed like a purgatorial eternity, but which was I suppose, a mere matter of weeks. I did not know how many days had passed, as I had not seen the sun. However, from my sleeping patterns, or rather those ordained by the controlling faction of the house, it would seem that I had been there for about a month. 

Now it seemed, my time there was drawing to a close. I will not, at this juncture go into detail as to how I got to the slavers house, that has not been commanded of me. The story I have been commanded to relate is what happened to me subsequently. 

I had been told that the time for my assessment was nigh, and at this time I would learn, in as much as a slave girl could ever learn, what would be my fate. I had been told that slave girls such as myself could never have much inkling of what the future holds for them. We are, after all, the type of creatures for whom others decide such matters.

I knelt, trembling.

Whatever my fate, it plainly could be no worse than the pens. 

The training was arduous. The accommodations provided for us were odious and dirty. Cages strewn with straw, the latter infested with crawling, biting insects. The food was disgusting and tasteless, when it was provided at all. Discipline was harsh and administered frequently with whips.

Yes, whatever my fate, it plainly could be no worse than the pens.

The slaver spoke.

"So, beast 13, we have your assessment."

That was all I had to cling onto now, 'beast 13'. It was my assigned appellation here in the pens. It was the closest thing I had to a name, and all that I was ever called, save for a series of insulting and demeaning sobriquets that my trainers would use when dissatisfied with me.

He had spoken to me in English. This was a kindness, as I was inevitably addressed in the new language that I was being forced to learn, the language of my Masters.

I replied to him in that new language, knowing that to fail to do so was to risk being whipped.

"Yes, Master." 

"We will converse in your own tongue, beast 13. It is important that you understand utterly and completely what I am to say to you, and your command of your slave language is not yet sufficient to ensure that."

"Yes, Master," I said, this time in English. 

He was probably correct. Although I considered that I had made great strides in learning and assimilating the new language, I still had problems understanding and speaking. To be sure, one month is not very long to learn a new language, even though the training is intensive.

He grunted. 

"Your slowness with the language is one negative aspect of your assessment," he said, "Although it is far from being the only one."

"Yes, Master," I replied, now feeling considerably more despondent. 

"We will begin," he said, and began to read from the document perched on his belly, casually, in a bored monotone. No doubt it was something he had to do regularly and found tedious and rather a chore. For my part, on the other hand, the words he would read out in the next few moments would determine my entire future.

I consoled myself that whatever my fate, it plainly could be no worse than the pens.

I strained to listen to every detail and nuance of his exposition.

"Firstly, Assessment of appearance. Slave is an illiterate barbarian," he droned monotonously, as if reading from a car manual or such, "flower brand, pierced ears. Non-virgin, training basic at best. Appearance adequate, front teeth somewhat protruding, neck short, figure slender, breasts small. Blonde, blue eyes. Skin fair and unblemished. Mark for appearance, five out of ten."

I gasped. Five? Five out of ten? On earth I had been considered a great beauty. Men had been wont to whistle at me in the street. I had had my pick of boyfriends. I had even, at college, without irony, been nicknamed by some of the college boys as 'Ten', as in ten out of ten. Yet here I was awarded a mere five. That was surely not even average! 

He looked at me lazily over the folder. 

"You have a comment to make regarding your assessment?" he asked. He had evidently heard my gasp of surprise.

His eyes were hard. I knew that it would not do to protest volubly about being awarded a mark of only five out of ten, but my vanity demanded that I say something.

"Th...that does not seem a very high mark, Master." I said. I was pouting a bit.

He sighed. He did not seem too surprised that I had questioned the awarded mark,

"It is adequate," he said, "I would not take it too much to heart. For a barbarian it is a not unreasonable tally. You would admit to having protruding front teeth?"

I did have a small overbite. I had always regarded it as a positive feature, it giving me a rather refined appearance, cementing my status in the upper echelons of society.

"I have a small overbite, Master, but that is not a bad feature, I think."

He shrugged and went on.

"Protruding teeth. You would agree that you have a short neck?"

I put my head down a little. It was not very short, although perhaps not particularly long and elegant, like that of a fashion model, but some of those look practically like giraffes. The men here had seemed happy enough to put a collar on it, at any rate.

"Well?" he commanded, more insistently.

"Yes," I said, unable to disguise a degree of bitterness in my voice, "it is not that long, I suppose."

"It is short. And you have blonde hair and blue eyes?"

I looked a little incredulous. That is one of the things I thought to have 'going for me', as it were.

"Yes, Master," I opined, almost through clenched teeth, "But I was not aware that that was a bad thing."

"In some years it might not tell against you too much," he said, "but there have been raids to the north. Sluts such as you are thus all too common at the moment."

"I see," I said, somewhat sharply. I hated how he had casually used the dismissive word, 'slut', to describe me, and for that matter, other girls with blue eyes and blonde hair. How could he dismiss us all as sluts? What an unfair generalization, I thought. Although I had to concede to myself that some girls with blue eyes and blonde hair could be considered sluts. There were some right here in the pens. Chloe and Siri for example. I knew better than to argue the point however, as he went on in his flat drawl.

"And you would concede that your figure is slender, and your breasts small?"

I squirmed on the tiles. I wanted to leap up and try to tear at his face with my nails. How dare he! I was immensely proud of my trim, lithe figure. My breasts, although not particularly large, were pert and shapely, like oranges. I had often been complimented on them, in fact.

"Master would prefer that I was fat?" I said, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

His look grew hard. I trembled. 

"Perhaps," he said, as if musing on the point, "although it is doubtful that your value would increase sufficiently to justify the feed costs involved."

I could not speak further for the moment. I was furious. I am sure my eyes blazed.

"In any case," he said, "five is a pass mark, albeit the lowest one available. And you are a barbarian, with no idea of such things as posture and grace. In fact, certain barbarians in the pens were awarded fewer appearance marks."

My heart leapt. I wondered who. Perhaps Chloe and Siri had been awarded less. That would teach them to laugh and taunt me when I was unable to please the guardsmen. When they had struck me and returned me to the cages. That would teach those two sluts, I thought. And I had passed the assessment. Albeit not with flying colours, and by only the lowest mark possible, yet I had passed. I felt relief suffusing my belly. I had been told repeatedly that the consequences of failing this assessment would be dire. In extreme cases girls were fed to ravenous beasts, or at least that is what they tried to tell us. But now I, at least, could move on to the next stage of my life. 

And whatever my future, it plainly could be no worse than here in the pens.

"You seem pleased," he said, not unpleasantly.

"Yes, Master," I replied, "thank you for passing me. I know that it is not the highest mark, but I am glad that I was able to meet the standards required." I wondered about asking him which girls had failed, or what marks Chloe and Siri had been awarded but thought better of it.

He glared at me, less pleasantly.

"That," he said, "is only the first part of your assessment, you pointless piece of ass."

"Oh," I said. I felt the worries and fears flood back into my belly. I barely noticed that he had called me a pointless piece of ass. My heart sank once more as he went on reading from the document.

"Assessment of attitude:- Seems to understand simple commands, and normally strives to obey them, although on occasion exhibits a small hesitation. Generally docile and compliant. Slow grasp of language. Inclined to show disagreement by pouting and other methods. Mark for attitude - three out of ten.

I swallowed, hard. I had already been told that five was the lowest mark, and now I had only been awarded a three. It would seem that I had failed this part of the assessment. But how unfair! I had always done what I had been told. I had not rebelled or disobeyed.

"Do you have any comments to make?" he asked.

I hesitated. 

"I have always been obedient, Master."

He narrowed his eyes. 

"Perhaps," he began, "although I'm sure there are examples where you have not. But you are required to exhibit more than mere obedience. Your particular version of 'obedience' is often accompanied by a pout or a questioning look. Slave obedience has to be willing, desperate, and complete. Such little acts of defiance have no part in the demeanour of a slavegirl. You have to make immediate improvements in this area. Do you understand?"

I tried not to pout.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"You are doing it now, you worthless barbarian slut! I don't need your arch looks, your pathetic gasps and sighs. You are required to obey without question and with utter trust and willingness. Do you understand this?"

"Yes, Master," I said, immediately.

"Better, slut," he said, "There is also of course the matter of your language skills, which we have already discussed. But we can work on these aspects. The whip is a fine teacher, would you not agree?"

"Yes, Master," I said. I trembled a little as I knelt. I had already found out that the whip could be a fine teacher, or at least modify my behaviour considerably in a direction required by others.

He nodded. 

"So," he said, "we come to the final part of your assessment, that additional to appearance and attitude. There is not a convenient word for it in your language, a fact that says much, but it is best defined as your abilities in pleasing Masters fully. For the sake of terminology, we shall call it 'slave heat'. As a non-virgin slave, this is the most important aspect of your slavery. Do you agree?"

As if to emphasize his point he shifted the position of his right foot so that it was pushing directly against my spreadeagled crotch. I whimpered softly.

"Of course, Master," I said quickly. I knew that I was currently failing the assessment. However, if I were able to get a good mark in this last part, that for 'slave heat', I could still scrape a pass. After all, he had said that this was the most important part. Perhaps if I passed this section they might allow my failure to attain sufficient marks for attitude to go unnoticed. I knew that I had been selected to please men frequently in the pens. I had pleased them as best I could with my lips and tongue, with my breasts, with my sex. I would surely pass.

I was almost bursting with dread and anticipation, my tummy in knots of apprehension and a faint tinge of hope. 

He spoke.

"Tell me first, though, when and why did you have your ears pierced?"

I felt myself gape at the question. My chin must have visibly dropped. He had been assessing me, was just going to tell me the most important part of my assessment, and he began to ask me about my earrings? It seemed so strange that I hesitated a bit before answering. Perhaps it was a test on his part, I thought. To check that my attitude was improving.

"I...I had them done on earth, Master. When I was at college. My mother was against it of course, but all my friends were having it done, so I did too."

I hoped that I had not given him too much information. I was desperate not to appear recalcitrant or uncooperative, but, on the other hand, I did not want to appear a babbling idiot. What did he care about my mothers opinions on my having my ears pierced? I looked up at him a bit sheepishly.

"So you did this of your own volition?" he asked, with a note almost of incredulity in his voice.

"Yes, Master," I said, "Do you think they look nice?" 

I tilted my head from side to side to emphasize the hoops in each ear. I knew that the slaver must like them too, to an extent, because of all the things that I had owned on earth, these two earrings were last to remain. The last things that I might consider once belonged to me, my final keepsakes of my old life. They were quite precious to me, I suppose, at that moment.

"Interesting," he said, "I would have assumed that it had been done to you, perhaps as a cruel joke, and yet even before coming here, you, apparently without compulsion or inducement labelled yourself as nothing but a pierced ear slut."

He shook his head as if struggling to understand.

"What do you mean, Master?" I asked, "Lots of girls have pierced ears."

"That is of no concern to me," he said, "here it marks you out as the lowest kind of slut, and is thus extremely relevant to the last part of your assessment. You were a fool to do this, and have additionally caused us considerable trouble by your stupidity."

His foot pressed harder against my crotch. I felt frightened. What could my ears being pierced or not, possibly have to do with my assessment for 'slave heat'?

He gave a grunt of impatience and began to read, thankfully taking his foot away from my most sensitive area. He read from the folder.

"Assessment for slave heat. Gives head adequately and tongue work shows a small degree of promise."

I blushed and suffused a little with pleasure. I suppose that there was still a part of me that was scandalized to hear that I gave head adequately and that my tongue work showed a small degree of promise. However, praise of any kind was welcome to me now. My spirits rose a little. 

He went on, "Slave heat totally inadequate for a pierced ear slut. Action required if she is to fetch a profit for the house. Mark for 'slave heat' - one out of ten."

I sobbed.

One! One out of ten! Yet I knew that I had pleased men! I had pleased them with my lips and tongue, with my breasts, with my sex. Had I not just been informed that I gave head adequately, and that my tongue work even showed a small degree of promise?

And I had been had in all kinds of ways! Yes, the encounters had sometimes not gone particularly well. I thought of one in particular when the guardsmen had sent me back to the cell, and Chloe and Siri had taunted and teased me, and called me a cold fish, but they were sluts! Nothing but sluts. I was a good girl. I was no prude, but I wasn't the sort who would do absolutely anything, the sort who would squirm and writhe just to get a man to want me. That wasn't my style at all. I left that to the Chloes and Siris. I did not need to act like that to get a man. The men came to me, no matter how distantly I behaved. In fact, it often seemed that the more distantly I behaved, the more they came.

I protested "But, Master, that is the lowest mark! And I have tried so hard to please men. It is not my fault if I am not really'that kind of girl'."

"No," he said, "no, it is not the lowest mark. Naught out of ten is the lowest mark. And if that had been your mark you would not be standing in front of me now, but would already be on your way in the wagon to the pits where they keep the city guard beasts. They are less discriminating than men, and do not particularly mind whether the item that they close their teeth upon possesses slave heat or not. However, you were not marked at naught. A mark of one means that although you are far, far, from being deemed adequate, there is at least some hope to turn a profit on you, if special measures are taken."

"Special measures?" I was crying now, tears running down my face and dripping onto my chin and breasts.

"Yes. In your case we can see that in some ways, the problem is your own foolish decision to have voluntarily had your ears pierced before being brought here. If you were being adjudged as a simple barbarian blonde piece of ass you would not be marked as a one. Perhaps as a two or even a three. And some owners would likely get a kick out of turning you from the prissy little bitch that you are now, into a hotly spiced delicacy begging for their merest touch. However, the piercing of your ears means that slave-heat will be expected of you from the start, and when you don't deliver, as it were, it will reflect badly on the reputation of this house. So we have come to an arrangement with a local tavern. Here is the last part of your assessment."

He read from his notes.

"Action item: Slave to be rented free of charge to the Juicy Pudding Tavern. Regular assessments to be made of slave until slave heat deemed adequate for a pierced ear slut. Interim corrections and punishments administered as necessary."

"I am to be rented out to a tavern?"

"Indeed. The Juicy Pudding is not a particularly salubrious tavern, and is grateful to get an extra slut, even one of such limited ability as yourself. It is local, so that assessment of you can be carried out without too much effort on our part. And the patronage of our agents will compensate for the potential damage to their own reputation of employing a slut as useless as you."

"And I will continue to be assessed?"

"Indeed you will. Your assessments, my dear, will be rigorous and comprehensive. In effect your future life will largely be one of complete and almost continual slave use, and public assessments of your slave use . And the most important component of your numerous assessments will be your 'slave heat', your sexual responsiveness to men. Do you understand, beast 13?"

I wept.

"You mean they will be assessing my 'sluttiness'?"

For the first time he looked cross with me.

"No, you ignorant piece of collar-meat, slave heat is much more than mere sluttiness. Sluttiness is relatively simple to attain, and requires little intelligence. 'Slave heat' means that you use your small intelligence to evaluate each man that you encounter and vary your behaviour accordingly, so that you are an exquisite pleasure to them. Sluttiness is only one aspect of that. With some men, indeed, sluttiness might be encouraged, but with others, it will be seen as a defect. It will be your task to establish the exact requirements of each and every one of your clients and modify your behaviour subtly to accommodate them."